


The Pathways Through the Apple

by Catheryne



Series: Carnal Apple [2]
Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 03:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12160800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catheryne/pseuds/Catheryne
Summary: Chuck and Blair pick up the pieces after the devastation that Jack Bass left in their lives. Chuck needs to show her the trust and love he never could before.





	The Pathways Through the Apple

 

* * *

**Chapter 1: Chapter 1**

* * *

**The Pathways Through the Apple**

Sequel to Carnal Apple, Woman Incarnate

Summary: Chuck and Blair pick up the pieces after the devastation that Jack Bass left in their lives. Chuck needs to show her the trust and love he never could before.

Spoiler: None

AN: Just like its prequel, the title of this story came from a Pablo Neruda sonnet. And this time, you get to hear from Chuck and Blair.

 

**Part 1**

It was a planet unto itself, that room. It was more than the four walls, more than the island city that it was built on, more than the region that was an intermingling of the East and the West. When he brought her back, shivering as she was under his thick coat, it was as if he was the savior and she was the one in distress.

Finally.

It had been the other way around for far too long.

There was so much to talk about, she told him with her eyes. But her teeth chattered at the cold air and the drying spatter of the cold river on her clothes. He had wrapped an arm firmly around her shoulders and rushed her back inside the building where they could hide from the bitter wind.

There was nothing that forced you out of catatonia than the prospect of losing the one person you loved. And someone called to him in the silence that was his mind amongst the flurry of activity, the panic and the chaos around them. It was in that silence in his head that Chuck noticed him, the pair of eyes watching him and her. He turned his head and looked up at the man who was the closest person to him in the world, the only one who was related to him by blood, the one person whose relationship with him would never change through circumstance.

Jack watched them, like a predator waiting for its prey. Chuck's arm tightened around Blair's waist and allowed the people to mill around them, to hide as much of them from Jack's view as possible. From those long ago days when Jack worked with his father, there had always ever been that look his uncle had thrown his way, a look that told Chuck he deserved nothing of what he had. And back in those days, as a child whose only certainty was that he had killed his mother, Chuck accepted the look like it was the only way his uncle could regard him.

But Chuck was a man now. He returned the spite in Jack's eyes with a look of his own. He hoped to hell it told the man, "Stay the hell away from us."

No more.

Jack was not going to interfere with their lives anymore.

The sun shone high up in the sky, and the water threw back the rays in a merry reflection of light. Chuck enjoyed the warmth of it on his skin despite the biting weather. It assured him that she was there within his reach, and not under the water with the current wrapped around her ankles dragging her down to that bottomless pit.

In the silence of his mind, within the deafening throng of the world around them, he could hear the slightest hitch in her breath, see the smallest change in her features, feel the littlest reaction against his skin. He turned back to his uncle a final time, and observed the man press his knuckles against his eyes.

He was blinding himself, and the malice still showed through the tight curl of his mouth. It was all Chuck could do to hold her against him, to shield her from Jack after the trauma of the ferry.

" _Ask her what we have. Ask her how many times I came on her since New Year's."_

Fuck him. He was messing with his mind. Even with that distance, even in silence, even when Jack wasn't looking, the man messed with his brain.

"Come on, Blair," he urged. "We have to get out of here."

He needed to take her back, as far away from Jack as he could possibly take her. Maybe, if they crossed all the time zones Jack's voice would not be so loud, would not be so impossible to ignore. The masses of Hong Kong would take the train back, and it was faster to go to Causeway Bay by train, then ride a shuttle to the stop at Happy Village. And then he could walk up the sloping hills with her, breathe the fresh air and let her feel the land under her feet.

But she had shivered and clutched at him, and he knew there was no way she could go through the amount of energy it would take to go through all that. His money made no impact then, his name was nothing to the strange faces that looked up at him with the assurance that he was more the stranger in that island. No cab would take them, and he was forced to shuffle her back up to the sky train, through the long walkways that led to the benches where they would wait.

He sat her on the bench, and she grabbed his hand. He could not sit with her, with all the women who stood to wait. His father taught him manners like that, and she was forced to stand with him and lean against the post. "It doesn't matter," she assured him, when he told her she needed to rest her knees.

There were rings under her eyes, her skin so pale he knew she was still in shock even as he shuffled her from one end of the island to the center, her lips were still tinged with a bluish hue. He should have made a pitstop, should have bundled her in more. He should have stopped by the scandalous number of Starbucks lining Hong Kong and given her something hot. But like always he operated under his own selfish desire to get out from under Jack's sight, and taken Blair, unprepared as she was, on the arduous journey back to the city.

And so he took her back to Eaton House, helped her pack her clothes even while he watched her hands tremble.

He stopped behind her, taken the clothes from her and closed his hands around hers as they knocked together and trembled so violently. She released a breath, then stepped away from him, like the position was undesirable even when they had found comfort in it so many times.

"I'm taking you home," he promised her, and this time she did not snap at his suggestion. After the day she had, there would be nothing more secure to her but home. "And then we'll forget everything about Hong Kong."

He would forget, even the words Jack had spat out in his anger. Jack was never going to enter their lives again.

"You're going to forget," she finally said. Blair pushed her bag to the side and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. "You're going to convince yourself nothing happened and then it would rear its ugly head just when you have your guard down."

And as much as he wanted to deny it, to assure her that he would never think back to his uncle and everything he had hinted at, Chuck knew tonight he would wake up panting in the nightmare of his uncle's hands on Blair. "What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing," she said softly. "I want you to do anything you want. But when we're back in New York, I need us to give ourselves some space. You need it too, Chuck."

And it was the same thing if Jack had succeeded, because after his hell he was going to lose Blair too. It would be like he never raced to Hong Kong to find her.

"He doesn't exist anymore," he told her, like maybe the words he said in the harsh wind by the dock had been carried away and she never really understood them. "He never existed for us. I love you."

And maybe because they were safe in that room, she allowed the words to wash over her the way she could not out there. She placed a hand on his cheek and let herself cry, like she was washing herself clean of all the dirt that had accumulated. She nodded, like she agreed, even if he did not ask a question.

He repeated it, because heaven knew she had said it more times without hearing him say them back. "I love you, Blair. And it changes everything."

He knelt in front of her as she sat on the bed, then leaned forward. Her knees pressed against his chest when he took her lips. Her thighs parted so he could press closer. Her breath still came in slight shuddering pants against his mouth. She was still coming down from the panic that had been her brush with death. Her limbs were heavy like her eyelids as she laid her other hand on his shoulder.

That room was a planet all for them, and even then the four walls closed in around them like there was nothing else—no furniture, no paintings on the wall, no lights, no windows. In that planet, there was only Chuck and Blair.

He had been the first man inside her, and every time this happened, it was her who was turning him into a man. It was in the way she looked at him, the way she made him want to draw it longer, make it special. It was the way she breathed; making him want to make sure she was comfortable. Slowly he pulled off the coat from her and he winced when he felt her clothes underneath still moist from the river.

If he had been a better man, he would have remembered and given her time to change into dry clothes.

He peeled off the clothes, and watched her skin prickle as he pulled the garment off from where they stuck to her skin. The air in the room was cool and every inch he exposed was covered in goosebumps. She was naked from the waist up. He placed open mouthed kisses along her arms, then looked up to see her watching him.

And so he continued to kiss her arm without taking his eyes from hers.

He burned a pathway from her arms to her collarbone, and Chuck closed his eyes, relishing the taste of the salty water still clinging to her skin. It was the faintest trace, because it was the wind that had sprayed it on her, but it was the headiest taste. This was how life tasted like—life that had almost been taken away. It was life and beauty and Blair. This was how love tasted.

"I'm never going to leave you," he whispered into her skin. Even if they returned, and they were no longer together, even while she chose to flourish back home away from him, he was not going to leave. He would show her that he was there every second. When Chuck Bass admitted to love, it was forever. No one else could change it. His hands settled on the button of her skirt. He undid it and pulled it down, along with her underwear. And she was fully naked, just like she had been that last night they had together in her room. That had been hurried and panicked, because they had lost each other and were seeking to prove that no matter what, it was still them.

It was the same that afternoon. He had nearly lost her in so many counts, still did not have her just like she asked. But Chuck Bass had said the words and that was the end all, the be all, of his existence.

He stood up and gazed down at her as she lay on her bed. Naked, Blair Waldorf in her glory lay on the bed waiting for him, her dark hair spread upon the sheets. He pushed the bag to the side so that it spilled onto the floor. He could have entered her earlier, but this was the first time he would be with her after she had left, the first time he would be with her after he told her he loved her.

This was the first time he would make love to anyone who held one thing over him. She knew he loved her, and he could not come to her in all the trappings that was Chuck Bass.

He shed his clothes the way he shed hers. His pants, the shirt, his boxers, the scarf—everything fell to the floor of their little planet. And then he climbed onto the bed and settled his body on top of hers. "I love you," he said.

Her legs cradled him and she rested her feet on either side of him. He rested his elbows on the cushion, raising his torso up so he would not suffocate her.

"Do you still love me?" he said, a whispered breath against her chin.

She moved her hips up, teasing him with her lower lips. He strained and pushed the head inside her, dipping just enough to give her a prelude. His neck tightened at the feel of the hot wetness that waited for him. This would be the last time before they came home, the last time he would lose himself inside her before he needed to prove with every last one of his actions that they could make it work.

That he loved her like he claimed, that he placed her on priority, that she was it.

Blair placed her feet down and pushed up, her eyes rolling back at the way he slipped up and down the crevice. "How could I stop?" she gasped. She reached her hand between them and captured him in her hand, placed the head against her as she rose to meet him, to let him a quarter way inside her. He pulled back, and she groaned. "Chuck, come inside," she pleaded.

"Tell me."

Blair looked up at him, her eyes marred by her confusion. She thrust her lips up, but he pulled further up and out of her. She swallowed. "You already know."

"Let me hear it again."

"I love you," she whispered. Her lips fell open when he surged forward and inside her. "Aaahh." Her hands frantically grabbed at his back. He lifted her legs up around him, high on his back. "Chuck," she gasped, when he thrust up inside her and sent her up a few inches on the bed. He pulled back, then thrust back in with such strength she felt them move up again.

Higher and higher, jarring them up, the sheets sticking to her back until they had traveled from where she had sat at the foot of the bed to where she could touch the headboard.

She screamed, a choked cry of relief when she came. She gripped the headboard with one hand and buried her fingernails in his back with the other. The pain, coupled with the tightly clenching muscles squeezing him brought him over the edge. He spent himself inside her with a quiet exclamation. He loved her. Over and over, ceaselessly he assured her.

"Don't lose this," he said to her as he flicked his tongue around her nipple. Blair caught his head in her hands as he started suckling on her breast. Her thighs had fallen in relaxed and spent abandon to his sides, and he was still half-buried inside her while some of his sperm trickled out of her. "Don't," he pleaded.

She turned her head to the side. Their planet grew bigger; the room grew brighter. She turned to look out the window at the bright sun. Chuck managed his breathing as he tried to regain his strength.

She loved him; he loved her. Finally, they were on the same page.

"Come home to New York with me."

"I will," she replied.

"With me, Blair," he emphasized.

"Chuck, we tried that when you came back," she said softly. Her breath hitched when his teeth bit into her breast. "It didn't work for so many reasons." He moved his attention to the underside of her breast, where the skin was soft and sensitive. "This," she gasped. "We're good at this. But not at everything else."

When he returned, she had come to him almost daily, and even when they fought, they made love like this. But trust, love, sacrifice—

It had all been one way.

"Let me show you who I am," he urged her. "Let me show you what kind of man I can be."

He had hurt her too many times, and he was half-afraid she would refuse. But if there was one weakness to Blair Waldorf that he hoped she would never lose, it was that if it came down to it, she would choose him.

Again and again even if it destroyed her.

"One last chance," she said. The look in her eyes had no hope, only surrender.

Now all he had to do was make sure he lived up to what she needed. And maybe, just maybe, he could save them.

tbc

* * *

**Chapter 2: Chapter 2**

 

**Part 2**

How many times had she seen it before?

There were days when Blair Waldorf opened her eyes and wondered if yesterday was a dream. If it were, she needed to wake up. The longer she stayed inside that fairy tale, the harsher reality would be.

She had been in love with Chuck Bass far longer than she cared to admit. Really, she hardly fell for him. Instead, it was like a thief in the night that Blair Waldorf drifted slowly off to love him. She had loved him so much it caught her by surprise, and the only way she could believe it was okay was to hear the words from him.

Really, sometimes it seemed to her that the moment she fell in love with him, she knew every fiber of his being, from the flare of his temper that hitched his breath to the self defense that made him straighten his shoulders.

She had been fooling herself. These past few weeks he showed her. And she acknowledged. Blair met Chuck Bass for the first time as they lay naked on a rental bed, with his weight heavy on top of her and her fingers buried in his hair. On that day, when she agreed to one more chance, he introduced her to Chuck Bass.

He had been a picture perfect creature, and she just knew perfection was a mirage in the desert. It was an illusion your brain created when you are far too exhausted, far too thirsty, far too hot to think clearly. Above the wavering heat and sand you would see a white palace, an oasis, a silver fountain.

This Chuck Bass was a mirage, so easily blown away by a slight breeze.

"Good?" he would ask every afternoon when his limo would pass by the school so she could climb in to the seat beside him.

And she would nod, because it was. And the better it was, the more difficult it became.

It was one particular afternoon after class that she spotted him sitting by the stone table in the courtyard. She approached him with a puzzled smile on her face. Since his suspension he had stayed outside the property, more annoyed by the looks he got than ashamed to be spotted in his disgrace. This time, when she stopped before him, he took her hand in his and placed a kiss on her wrist.

"Fancy meeting you here," she said softly. Blair looked around and noted the few pairs of eyes watching them. There was nothing to be ashamed of. Not this time. She gave him a smile and waited for his answer.

The corner of his lip turned up even as he stood staring at her bare hand. His thumb rubbed circles on the back of her hand. "Got myself back in," he told her with a hint of his own smile.

Something blossomed in her chest, something wordless, something that was only the slow spread of tingling warmth. "You're going back to school." It was a step. One amazing step that he took all on his own.

His eyes turned to hers. He nodded slowly. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

And every response she made, since she met Chuck Bass, was careful, precise, calculated to give him only so much that he would not feel like he was being pushed into anything he was not ready for. Despite the new skin, Chuck Bass was still her Chuck, slowly healing from the injury brought about by a parent's death, by the staggering change of turning from a restless slacker to the man at the helm of multibillion dollar fortune.

"Only if you want to," she responded.

He nodded in quiet understanding. Sometimes she thought maybe he knew how intentionally careful she was. Sometimes she wondered if he was doing the same. And so they circled around each other, waiting for something, but too afraid to break a barrier.

"Do you think I should go back?" he asked. Slowly, she nodded. "Are you happy that I'm going back?" Again, there was her nod. She could only hold so much in, but she could never lie. She would never lie. And she thanked him silently every day that he never asked anything that would tempt her to lie. "Then this is what I want," he said.

Blair felt his arm around her shoulders, just like the way he had done when he rushed her away from the dock and to the skytrain, back on the day she first met him. The gesture was so familiar she leaned against his body. The world dropped away from her vision. The only way was where he led. There were pictures, she was sure. Maybe later she would skim through them and find endless ways to critique her appearance.

But even with her issues she knew the moment she pulled up those photos on the web, all she would look at is him.

She couldn't ever get her fill of him. Even when she had him, she hungered for him. Even when he was beside her, perfect and wonderful the way he had been since Hong Kong, since Tsim Sha Tsui almost swallowed her alive and wrapped her in violent, dragging currents, she missed him.

He was perfect and predictable and more than the gentleman she wanted.

And she missed him. Just missed him like he had died in Hong Kong.

Dead man walking, and even then she still leaned against him and allowed his fragrance to wrap around her, let his presence build a world surrounding her. "Do we have plans for tonight?" she asked him.

The opera, a candlelit dinner, dancing on the rooftop at Victrola. He had done it all for her, and in every one of those nights, she missed him.

She was sick, and there was no cure for what she had.

"I have movies in the limo. I made sure to pick the ones I know you'd like."

Even the way he knew the exact day she was feeling like staying in. Made her miss him. Made her wonder where he was. They walked towards the gate where the black vehicle waited. He reached for the door and held it open for her. Blair stopped, gripped the window and surprised herself with the urgency in her voice that should not have been there, "Chuck, look at me."

He did, and slowly she released the breath that she held to her chest. "What is it?"

"There you are," was her soft statement. She slowly smiled, then shook her head. "Nothing. I just… missed you."

His face softened. "It's just been eight hours." Eight hours too long, especially when she hardly saw him anymore. Ironic, since he picked her up from school every day without fail. "How was your day?" he asked when they settled inside the limo.

It was a question he had learned to ask on their second week back in New York. She wondered who coached him on it. It was definitely not Nate. His best friend never asked that question when he was the boyfriend. Lily—maybe. But then again it was difficult to imagine Chuck taking advice from his stepmother.

If she was right—and she hoped to God she wasn't—he would need to take Lily's advice for a good long while.

He was so perfect now, nicely rising from the muck his father's death had buried him under. He was trying, so much, so hard, so well. If she could help it, she would.

"Uneventful." She leaned back in her seat and wondered if every day, for the rest of her life, was just as perfect as this. Blair wondered how long it would be before she screamed. "There is this new teacher," she offered. "It's her mission in life to make mine horrible."

"What's her name?"

Blair's gaze turned to him. He had a bored stance as he slouched in his seat, but his eyes were sharper now, his jaw more pronounced. She knew the look. She missed the look. God, she adored that look. And despite the excitement it elicited from her, Blair calmed herself.

She reached for the brown paper bag at his feet. "What movies did you get?"

Blair looked through the DVDs, read the titles—most of which she had already seen or decided not to see. She picked one from the group and flipped it to the back, in that perfect pose that if he checked on her he would see her engrossed reading the synopsis. The words swam before her eyes. She kept her head down.

"So what are we watching tonight?" he asked.

She pushed the videos into his hands, then turned her back on him. Blair quickly dabbed at her eyes so he would not notice the moisture there. "I'm not in the mood for a movie tonight."

"Are you sick? Do you need to go to the doctor?" he asked, and even then she missed him. A long time ago he would have been irritated at the sudden change in her mood, when he had bothered to pick up videos he would not be caught dead holding. And now he was concerned, like suddenly there was someone else in his life apart from him and his own misery.

"No," she snapped, and she hated herself for it. But this was nothing compared to what she was going to do to him over time. If he would break, she prayed he broke now. "I just want to get some rest."

At least when she ruined them both, she would have one less person to feel guilty about.

She wanted him to lose his temper, to snap at her, to pitch a fit that was worthy of the Chuck Bass she used to know, not the shell she had returned home with. It would be easier to do it to him, to that Chuck Bass, because that Chuck Bass would be able to defend himself with a few well-placed barbs and an acid tongue.

"Where's your mom?"

She ignored the question, and received a squeeze on her shoulder for her efforts. "Stay over," he suggested. He kissed the back of her neck. She sucked in her breath at the action. "If you're getting sick, at least you have me."

And she hated this Chuck, because this Chuck did not deserve the new problem she would give him. She did not say anything. Idly, she wondered why she couldn't just tell him to take her back to her penthouse where Dorota would be waiting, could whip up a nice broth if she asked. Part of her, maybe, the part who hated this Chuck, found some pleasure in this too.

She was a bitch. She knew just how much this could destroy him.

Just when he was perfect.

Her phone vibrated in her purse. She started at the alert. Chuck placed another kiss on her nape and suggested, "Ignore it."

"I can't," she answered. She had been waiting for this since she told Serena over lunch. Blair reached for the phone with her stiff movements, then checked the message. To his credit, he turned away and looked out the window. For a moment giving her privacy.

_My bathroom. In the medicine cabinet behind the tampons. Good luck, B._

She sighed. A few minutes more and she would find out for sure. Blair looked behind her and saw Chuck now rifling through the videos. She caught him when he glanced surreptitiously at her. Blair's lips thinned. She released a sigh and then placed a hand on his thigh. Chuck set aside the videos and covered her hand with his.

"Do you want to tell me what the problem is?" he inquired.

Blair shook her head. "Not yet."

His jaw tensed. She saw it. And she was almost glad she could see that sign of displeasure. But he promised her it would be different this time, and it was. He nodded briefly, then leaned back in the seat of the limo. After a slight hesitation, she followed, her body seeking the hollows and dips of his body as she settled against him.

tbc

* * *

**Chapter 3: Chapter 3**

* * *

 

**Part 3**

It could have worked for them, really. There were so few times when Chuck was sure of anything in his life, and he had been fine with it. That is, until Blair Waldorf. Nothing before her, no one before her, overwhelmed him with the need to ensure that everything was perfect.

His arm was dead to sensation now, with her head pillowed on his shoulder. She would wake up with a crease on her cheek, because she had been so sleepy when they arrived that he had not even had the chance to take off his shirt before she was heavy against him.

Even as they watched the grainy film on the screen, he remembered the stunted conversation in the limo that she had refused to finish. On and on, the movie droned hackneyed phrases that made the woman swoon, phrases he knew would never pass his lips.

Then again, this was Blair's choice of a movie. And he knew never to say never to anything that involved Blair Waldorf.

It had been three years since that split second that changed his life. He had peering into his bottle of beer, trying to count the bubbles in the foam. It had been one night in Nate's living room when Georgina decided to spin a bottle. Serena had been half-sprawled on the floor, ensuring maximum possibility of the nose of the bottle pointing towards her. It had been the fun Serena—the queen that cared about nothing more than making out and laughed off her tipsiness. Georgie had hung on Chuck's arm all night and he had been fine knowing there was no way he wasn't getting at least a hand job that night.

Chuck had lifted the bottle and tipped it, finding the way the beer inside leveled with the ground highly amusing. Until he got some in his eye and he had cursed soundly with a 'fucking shit.' Swearing made him into a man. Boys didn't cuss.

Nathaniel had grinned at Chuck's pain, and Chuck looked up to glare at him when his one good eye met Blair's worried ones. Nathaniel's pretty girlfriend straightened away from his best friend and moved over to him, crossed to his side of their circle on her hands and knees and stopped just a hairsbreadth away from him.

"Let me see," she said. And he had forever heard Blair's voice, and that night it sounded soft instead of demanding. "It's all red." Like her lips, full and like a bow. "Come on. We need to wash it with water."

Chuck had eased his arm away from Georgina and stood up. And then, in a way he never did for Georgie, he offered a hand to help Blair Waldorf up.

"You're going to the bathroom with my girlfriend?" Nate called out teasingly. "Man, you have no control!"

"Please," Georgina had muttered loudly enough for him to hear. "Snow White? Even Chuck Bass can't unlock that belt."

And they had all but evaporated in his head. All he remembered clearly that night, aside from the burning pain of beer in his eye, was the way Blair Waldorf dabbed a moist handtowel around his eye after she made him splash water on the eyeball itself. Maybe he remembered a bit of her voice as she told him it should not hurt more.

Maybe he remembered a little of how she smelled like some perfume that was a little too mature for her—Red Door. Elizabeth Arden. Probably her mom's. Blair was always a little too old for all of them.

He had been Chuck Bass, and decided she had to get to know him better. So his fifteen year old hands cupped her fifteen year old ass, and she had sniped at him afterwards.

But Chuck remembered that when he got back to the circle, Nathaniel was still laughing and he even asked him how his eye was. So Chuck remembered that Blair Waldorf did not tell on him.

For her birthday, Chuck made his dad's twenty five year old secretary run around the malls buying up fragrances for sixteen year old girls. The young woman had lined up seven bottles in front of him and Chuck landed on the unlikely golden bottle after his first sniff. Magnolia, sandalwood, vanilla.

Surprised Blair Waldorf with a nice bottle of Burberry Brit Gold just because she was his best friend's girl.

Never. He told himself 'never' to Blair Waldorf a dozen times since then.

That was when he knew there should never be never around Blair.

Blair stirred in his arms and opened warm brown eyes up at him, and he pressed kiss on her forehead. "Morning."

She frowned, as if lost. "Morning?" Blair sat up quickly. "What? Chuck, why did you let me sleep here all night?"

"Your mother's gone anyway. And Dorota knows you're here."

Blair pushed away frantically, and his dead arm felt the chill of missing her. "I have to get dressed. I have school today, Chuck. I can't come in wearing the same clothes." He opened his mouth. "And I am not wearing Serena's clothes. They're too long on me."

Blair searched for her shoes, and he did not bother telling her they were on his side of the bed. Instead, he placed his hands on her shoulders and rubbed his thumb in circles of pressure. He then propelled her towards the closet.

"I am not wearing your clothes."

Chuck pulled one door open to show her the neat column of his clothes, then pulled the other open and revealed a column of clothes for women. "I picked every last one of those." He pressed a kiss on the nape of her neck, because he was sure this would make her happy. Finally, he thought of her. He moved his clothes for her, made a place for her in his life the way he never really did before. This was more than I love you, and she did not even ask for it. "I'll be right back."

If only she would let him see more, be more, then they could finally be perfect. Like all those movies she watched, she could let him be the hero for once.

"Chuck," Lily greeted. The woman looked odd scooping scrambled eggs from a pan and into a bowl. He looked behind her and saw the stay-out maid cooking. And that made more sense. "Are you joining us for breakfast?"

"Not today." He picked up a couple of slices of toast and placed them on a plate. Then he waited beside the maid until the woman placed several bacon slices on his plate. "More," he said. When there was a heap on his plate, he took the bowl of eggs and told his stepmother, "Just have Lucy make more."

"You don't eat breakfast," Lily pointed out. "Chuck, is Blair up there?" she asked in a hushed voice. Chuck didn't know why she sounded surprised.

He was a gentleman now, and gentlemen never told. He grinned at his stepmother and took the full plate back with him. And that probably revealed more to Lily than anything he could have said.

The room was empty when he returned. He placed the food on the bed, then walked over to the bathroom. The door was open and he knew even before he peeked inside that she was not there. He stepped outside and noted his stepsister's bedroom door ajar. With a brief knock, he opened the door. And there stood Serena, just outside the bathroom, knocking on the door.

"She in there?"

Serena nodded, then lifted a hand to ward him off. "I'll take care of it," she told him.

But nobody else took care of Blair but him. He told himself that since he decided that he would tell her, since he came to her, since he promised her he would be everything she needed. Ignoring his stepsister's words, Chuck stopped beside her and knocked on the door. "Blair, open the door."

"No," he heard from inside the door. Her voice sounded gravelly, as if her throat was raw, as if it hurt, almost like she had screamed, or vomited. He knocked heavier, faster. "Blair, open the door now."

Because she did not, and he heard the faint sob, Chuck scowled at Serena. "Where's the key?"

Serena shook her head. "Blair, honey, let me in."

But she was stubborn like he was and he knew himself, know if he did not want to open the door, someone would have to force it open for him. "I'm getting the key from your mom."

By the time he returned clutching the precious metal, the door was open and he saw his stepsister first, kneeling by the toilet, telling him Blair sat in the corner between the bowl and the tub. And Blair Waldorf would not have done it in her right mind, no matter how much Serena's bathroom shone and sparkled. Serena's back was to him, and if she were a smaller woman he would have caught a glimpse of Blair.

He heard her, her voice faint, the words weak.

"I'm not ready. I'm not ready," she chanted, like it made sense to anyone.

Apparently, it made sense to his stepsister. "I'll be here. It's okay. I'll be right here," Serena said.

And what about him? He was here, and she could not even tell him what it was. It had to be someone else she ran to, even after he had bared his soul to her.

He stepped inside just as Serena leaned over and wrapped her in her arms. "You're going to be fine."

"Don't tell him," he heard Blair say in a hushed voice, and it gutted him. Because he had done enough, more than enough to make up for everything that happened to them after his father died.

Why was she trying to break him?

He had said the words back.

He had taken the reins of Bass Industries like the leader he was meant to be.

He even took an exam for Queller to see his drive for academic excellence.

Everything. He had done everything that mattered to her and more.

He looked away, because seeing her depend on someone other than him, when he knew he could do more than he already had, grated at him. That was when he saw the box. It sat on the sink, in full view. He picked it up and read the instructions on the side. Slowly, he turned his gaze back at the dark head that rested on Serena's chest.

The white stick lay on top of the toilet seat cover. His shadow must have alerted her, because she looked up at him just as he saw the lines.

He never pushed himself, but his memory was as close to photographic as possible. And he knew what it meant. He met her eyes, and they were panicked, fearful even.

Striking the same chord of fear in his heart.

It could have worked for them. It would have because he had decided it would work, and that he would spend a lifetime with her. But the lines, that fear, leveled him. Fucking asshole. Couldn't leave well enough alone. Always haunting him, always haunting them.

Jack would fucking kill him from thousands of miles away.

And he didn't know how long he would regret the first words that were out of his mouth.

"How long since you've been with Jack?" he said quietly.

The fear, the anxiety, rolled into a ball, getting bigger and bigger and bigger until it was choking him.

"What?" she said. Her tears filled her eyes to the rim, but did not spill. She clutched at Serena's hand.

"Oh my God, Chuck!" his stepsister cried. "What are you talking about?"

"Get out," he said coldly at Serena.

Blair shook her head. "I didn't—"

"How long, Blair?" he gritted out. "How fucking long?" he said, louder now, like the words wanted to burst out but couldn't. His chest constricted. He was going to die, right here, right now. He would die from his heart shattering into a million pieces, embedding shards into his brain, his eyes, his gut, his throat, until pieces of his heart cut everywhere and left him bleeding out on Serena's bathroom tiles.

He did his best.

And she destroyed him. She was a disaster and she destroyed everyone in her path.

He was Chuck; he was Jack; he was everything she wanted and she killed him for it.

And every last crumbling piece of his heart still screamed he loved her, even when she melted, when she cried, when she cursed him through her tears. His broken heart still ached for her.

"Never," he heard her whisper. "Never again," she said, taking back the last chance he had begged for while they lay naked and wrapped up in each other. While he was still inside her and she was spilling full of him.

Never. Forever.

She bowed her head. He saw her tears fall like rain on the dark tiles.

He sat down and leaned back against the side of the tub, staring up at the ceiling.

Was it only an hour later that Lily appeared in the doorway, looked at them in opposite ends of Serena's bathroom floor, and walked in to help Blair up?

Seemed like forever.

It wasn't long enough. If that was goodbye. Not long enough at all.

tbc

* * *

**Chapter 4: Chapter 4**

 

**Part 4**

When she thought of him, she died.

There was no long drawn out pain, like the death most people feared. It was not an incredible physical matter. Blair did not gasp for breath, or find herself in a fit of tears with no hope of recovery. Since the day she dragged her feet and followed Lily out of Serena's bathroom, and thought that she would die of pain that day, the pain was absent, as if it had forgotten her.

When Blair thought of Chuck, she found it odd that there was no need to cry. She had already cried so much because of him and thought that maybe deep inside, she had cried too much that she was dry.

He came by every day, and she loved herself and this newfound world where there was no pain that she had sent him away every day.

"Miss Blair, are you sure?" Dorota had asked her once, while she lay in bed staring up dry-eyed out the window. She did not respond. Dorota knew her well enough. "But he looks so—"

"I don't want to hear what he looks like," she whispered, "what he sounds like, what he wants." It happened more times than she cared for, those deep eyes that turned to her with anger, with dismissal, with the burning flame that was bound to scorch her. And she was Blair; he was Chuck. She found herself flitting closer and closer until she exploded into ashes of herself.

God, she loved him and she hated him.

Chuck Bass would never get to her. Never again. One week later Dorota brought in a vase of flowers. Trite, she thought. Somehow, flowers for apology had become so meaningless. The bouquet was colorful, filled with exotic choices not available in any of the florists she saw here.

"I told you, Dorota. Anything from Chuck, you need to send back."

"Miss Blair, I don't think Mister Chuck gave his name." Dorota moved around the room, crossed her vision as she placed the vase on her dresser. Her shadows loomed, but it made no difference. "They won't take back the flowers."

Dorota sat on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on Blair's forehead. She used to love the way Dorota's hand was cool on her skin. This time, she felt nothing. The maid nodded in approval, and she supposed even in this whole process of dying Blair's temperature was fine.

She stood up because she needed to go to school, not out of curiosity. When she passed by the arrangement, Blair leaned down and took a deep breath.

She plucked the black card and read the note.

_Thinking of you still. Always._

She set the card aside and changed into clothes more appropriate for school. When she stepped out of her house, she saw it. She may be focused into herself, but she was not blind. The black limo sat across the street. She turned her gaze away and walked quickly towards the school. To her relief, Chuck did not approach her or try to speak with her.

She was in school when Serena came to her.

"B, how are you doing?"

She flashed her best friend a smile so brilliant surely Serena would never be concerned again. "I'm wonderful!"

"What did the doctor say?" Serena asked as her voice dropped.

She turned her eyes to the book. Carefully, she folded the corner of the page. "I should really remember to bring a bookmark," she murmured thoughtfully. Blair turned the book. Her eyes skimmed through the bird's eyeview at the back.

"You've been to the doctor, haven't you, B?" Serena prodded.

"I'm not sick," she insisted. "I don't need to go to a doctor."

The blonde settled beside her. Blair gasped when Serena plucked the book from her hands and set it on top of the stone table. "No one from school is going to call your mom, or your dad. You've been handing all your schoolwork on time. You're coming to school everyday."

"Exactly," Blair snapped in her cold voice. The same cool tone she retreated behind when someone was ridiculous enough to attack her. "Everything looks perfect, doesn't it? I'm rather proud of myself."

"B, you have to go and get yourself checked out." Blair felt Serena grasp her hand. Even then, with Serena's tight grip, she felt no warmth or coldness from the other girl's skin. Almost like there was nothing there. She could see her hand in Serena's, hear Serena's voice.

It ended there.

Out of her own curiosity, she asked, "Why?"

Serena's pretty golden eyebrows furrowed. With one hand, Serena reached out to cup her cheek. She leaned close, and Blair thought that maybe Serena was stressed about the situation. Poor girl. She was caught between her stepbrother and her best friend. Somehow, she had to show Serena that there was nothing to be worried about. Relationships ended all the time. To survive, you need to know how to cut your losses.

"So you'll be healthy," Serena answered as if it was the plainest thing in the world.

Blair was tempted to ask why it mattered. "It's fine, Serena. Don't worry. I feel perfectly alright."

Even then, her voice sounded hollow. Maybe she would go to a doctor and have her ears checked.

The bell rang for the next class, and Blair was relieved. She stood up and turned to her friend. They had this period together. Blair checked inside her notebook to find her folded homework.

"Blair, go to a doctor. We have to know if you're really—"

"I am," she cut off her best friend. There was no need to say it. And she could not tell Serena how she knew, could not trust that she would understand. As much as she could help it, she lived her life now as if Chuck Bass had not completely destroyed her. There was no need for reminders every day.

Serena released a deep breath. "Then are you taking all your prena—"

Her hand shot out and her fingers buried into Serena's arm. "Stop," she gritted out. She had been as patient as she could, because Serena was her friend. But there were limitations to everything, boundaries. Chuck had gone past his. Serena was bordering on hers. "I'm handling it. Really, Serena, I don't even know if I'm keeping it." She refused to see her best friend's reaction to the statement. "So just walk to class with me. You'll see. Nothing has to change."

But the world was conspiring against her. She had worked so hard on her paper, lost at least two hours worth of sleep when she was already sleepy all the time. Blair knew, was sure of it, that no one in the whole class had written papers as insightful as hers. Outside the classroom door was posted a note. The teacher had been rushed to the hospital and there was no substitute found yet, so everyone needed to go to study hall.

There was no one collecting the papers. And every last one of her classmates would get an entire day extension on the homework she had worked so hard on the night before.

It was completely unfair. Unbelievable how everyone got all the slack.

She squeezed her eyes shut and felt moisture seep out from her eyes. Blair dabbed at them quickly. She saw Serena watching her profile.

"Blair," she heard her friend say hesitantly, "Chuck has been trying to reach you."

And there it was. Full disclosure. Just by the mere mention of his name, Serena had shown Blair whose side she was on. Blair had lost so much to Chuck. Now she had lost Serena too. She did not respond, merely slipped her notebook into her bag and walked.

"I know he wants to apologize."

He had apologized. The short time they were together had been a series of apologies. And even when he did not apologize, all those months before, she forgave him because she was in a world of denial, a world where Chuck Bass deserved another chance, and another, and another, because she was in love with him.

"I got his flowers," she answered.

"That's nice," Serena said tentatively. "I didn't think he would send flowers. I know he wanted to talk to you personally." Blair remained silent. "Give him a chance."

Were all the chances she had given still not enough? She was so tired.

"Chuck isn't like us."

That just did not matter anymore. No one was like her either. She could not always lose herself just because he was fragile. It was time to think of herself.

After school, she caught a cab to meet Dorota at the clinic. She would have done it herself, but the nurses had been insistent that there be someone waiting for her afterwards. And she swore she would not cry. She paid the cab driver and made her way through the cement path. The glass doors were nice, modern and hygienic.

It was the last place she ever thought she would go to after school.

She scanned the waiting room for her maid. Found someone else instead. He straightened from the way he was leaning back against the pure white walls. When he walked towards her, she was possessed by the urge to turn and run. But she stood her ground, because Chuck Bass had no right, no power, to affect her life.

"What are you doing here?" This time, he was silent. For someone who needed to talk, someone who wanted to came by over and over, he had nothing to say. "How did you even know?" She did not confide this with her best friend, just because she knew within two seconds Chuck would know.

"Is this what you really want?" he asked quietly.

"Why would you even care?" she whispered. "It's Jack's, isn't it?" She couldn't believe the lie could leave her lips so easily now.

"It's not," he insisted softly. She wanted to ask him how he knew, until she remembered the flowers. The black card that did not have a name, the bouquet that had selections not from any Manhattan florist. Chuck never sent flowers. He brought them when he had something to say.

"You talked to Jack," she concluded. He stepped closer to her, and she could feel the heat from his body warming her. The sensation surprised her. It was the first time she felt someone else's temperature affecting her. She hated that—hated that she felt nothing from Serena or Dorota. Chuck Bass did not affect her anymore.

"It never felt right," he confessed.

"But you believed him after you talked to him. You didn't believe me."

He reached for her hand, and she stepped away. She saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes, and she didn't care one bit. Nothing. She would give him nothing now. He had already drained her out of everything. "No. You don't get to touch me. You shouldn't even be here."

"Shouldn't I?" he asked. For the first time, the pain he showed her satisfied her. If it could not be nothing between them, then she would be happy if she could hurt him a fraction of the hurt he gave her. "That's my baby."

And the way he said it, the way he looked saying it—

This was exactly why she refused to see him. And now he was right in front of her and she could not hide from this.

They called her name, and she turned. Before she left, she told him, "If you came here to change my mind, you're wasting your time."

"I came here to be with you."

"Don't be ridiculous. You know you lost any chance of that." In that bathroom, when she was so afraid of what she discovered, when all he could think of was Jack. He hated her like he hated his uncle, and he lost her then.

"I'm here to take care of you afterwards." And he couldn't even say it out loud. "I told Dorota I'll do it. You can't travel alone afterwards. They must have told you."

She needed Dorota. She needed Serena. She needed her mother. She needed anyone else but him. "I don't trust you to take care of me," she told him. After Hong Kong, it seemed so unfair to him, but she did not care. "Just go, Chuck. I'll call a cab."

They led her to a sterile room and handed her the coarse gown. Two days before when she came here the experience was as cool and collected as what she supposed a job interview was. The doctor—and Blair just knew it was shrink even if they did not advertise it—spoke to her about her options and she was asked to talk about her reasons. Blair was always stellar at interviews. They ended the talk with the shrink suitably impressed that she had a good head on her shoulders, and that this was a choice Blair was sure of.

Now she cursed her fingers because it was so difficult to remove her clothes. She caught the buttons and slipped them out of the holes. Blair carefully slid down the zipper of her skirt. Very carefully, she folded the clothes. There was a knock on the door, and her heart skipped.

"Not yet," she called out.

She placed her blouse on top of her skirt. Slowly she pulled off her shoes and lined them at the side, against the wall. Blair placed the simple gown on. It was left open at the back. She looked up at the AC vent. She was not even cold at all. Blair was about to open the door when she remembered she was still wearing her underwear.

For what she was here for, she had to take them off.

Blair pulled off her panties and placed them between the folded blouse and the skirt. Blair climbed on top of the bed. When the next knock came, she called out to let the person in.

"Miss Waldorf?"

She nodded at the doctor. Blair's eyes went to the name tag on the doctor's coat—Kingston. The woman held out her hand and introduced herself. "I see from your record that you have spoken with Dr Bayer. And you're prepared for this."

"I am," Blair replied. She was surprised at how her voice cracked. She should probably have a sip of water.

"Well, Blair, the procedure is simple. But any time that this is done, there are implications to your health—mentally, physically, emotionally—"

She had read it all, listened to the psychiatrist when she went on about the risks. She was intelligent enough to understand each step of the procedure. She had memorized it in her head.

"You went through counseling and all the paperwork, even the lab tests two days ago."

"I did," she admitted. "But I needed some time to think."

"Do you have someone with you?" the doctor asked.

Even after she had told him to leave, Blair knew Chuck well enough to know he was out there. He would probably be dying for a smoke right now. She took a small amount of pleasure at the knowledge that there was no way he could light up in the clinic or even outside. "Chuck Bass."

Dr Kingston smiled. "The father?" Blair nodded. Chuck Bass—the father. That was a first. "You're very lucky that you have his support. I see far too many young women coming here with friends or parents. It's a different experience, one that only the two of you can fully understand."

"Yes. Very lucky." Blair ignored the irony in that. Instead, she looked around her. "Are we getting started?"

"Yes, we are." Dr Kingston placed on her surgical gloves. Blair watched with bated breath as the tools were lined on the table. "If you can place your feet on the stirrups." Blair swallowed, then placed one foot, then the other in their place. She felt herself open and her eyes flew to the plastic tube on the table. "This should take no longer than ten minutes. I understand that you elected to be fully sedated."

She did not want to feel the pain. But even now she was so numb, like every day of her life. The nurse stretched her arm and rubbed at a spot with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball. The scent filled her nostrils, but she did not feel the pleasant refreshing coolness when the air touched her moistened skin.

"Before we give you the IV to sedate you, I want to talk you through the steps again." Blair opened her mouth, but the doctor waved it away. "We will have another sonogram like the one you had two days ago, so we can see how viable the pregnancy is."

"It's viable," she whispered.

"And then you're going to fall asleep. We will give you this injection to relax your cervix. We will insert this tube," Blair looked at the soft, flexible plastic, "into your cervix and to your uterus. And then we'll suction the pregnancy out." It was a science book, she thought to herself. She was reading a science book.

She hated the first part of this, when they showed her the faint white spots on the screen. She hated when the doctor pointed out where the fetus was. It was one of those moments when she felt something, just when she was enjoying not feeling anything at all.

She hated Chuck. And she needed another word for it because right after the ultrasound she hated him more than what was humanly possible.

"Well start the sedation, Miss Waldorf."

It was so easy, whenever she could convince herself that the pregnancy was merely an idea. Different when there was that mass on the screen, when Chuck was right outside.

Blair pushed at the nurse's hand. She removed her feet from the stirrups and she curled herself into a ball on the bed. She sucked in a large breath of air, found herself sobbing out loud. Finally.

"Miss Waldorf," Dr Kingston said gently, "do you need us to pause?"

She cried into the pillow, coughing and gasping for air. She squeezed her legs shut, wrapped her arms around her stomach like someone had tried to do something she did not want. She cried for reasons she could not say, maybe for reasons she did not even know. All she knew was there was a tightness inside her and she needed to sob out loud.

A hand rested on her arm, and she flinched, because she did not want the sedative anymore. She didn't want to stay, didn't want them to take away what she did not even want.

"It's me," he said in his warm voice. "Blair, it's me."

And she cried, and it was shameful, embarrassing, humiliating for him to see it. But she sobbed and he gathered her up in his arms, held her tight. "I don't want this. I don't want it anymore," she repeated into the crook of his neck. Blair grasped at his shirt with one hand, kept one arm around her belly. "Don't let them do it," she pleaded. She did not trust him with her life, with anything to do with her, but she was sure he would do everything he could so that they would not hurt their baby.

"They won't," he said soothingly.

"I signed all the papers, Chuck."

"They won't," he assured her. "I promise." His promises meant nothing, but still she felt her sobs grow fainter. He helped her stand up.

She cried soundlessly as she watched him gather her clothes from the chair and placed them on the bed. He held up her blouse, then untied the ribbon on the back of the cotton gown. He slid the blouse over her head and fixed the buttons. He took the panties and placed her hands on his shoulders. He leaned down. She placed her feet into the holes and held her breath as he pulled them up and into place.

He picked up her skirt, and thought idly, as he hooked it into place over her hips, that this was not part of taking care of the baby. This was something else, something she could never trust him to do.

"I want to get out of here," she whispered.

"Of course," he agreed. She saw the tense lock of his jaw, and ached to touch it, to trace the skin. She kept her hands fisted at her sides. He placed an arm around her waist and walked out of the room with her. "The limo is waiting right outside. I want you to stay in the limo while I take care of everything."

He led her to the black vehicle and helped her inside. Blair leaned her head back against the familiar comfort of the black leather and dark interior. Only this once, she would let him do this. This once, because she was tired, and aching. And then Chuck Bass would not define her anymore. She closed her eyes and let herself sleep. She was in the limo, and Chuck would be back soon. She would be safe.

tbc

* * *

**Chapter 5: Chapter 5**

* * *

**Part 5**

Haunting, he learned, was not merely a product of death. Or maybe it was, and death was more than dying. What Chuck Bass knew was that Blair Waldorf's eyes haunted him. When he slept, he dreamt of the fear he had seen in them, while she was in Serena's arms, and she looked up to him and saw. Fear, he knew now, of what he would do or say. He was her nightmare come to life.

Before he knew, before he was certain, before the words came from the tongue of the devil himself, her eyes haunted him. In his restless sleep he had imagined her lying beneath Jack, writhing and twisting and thrashing as his uncle pummeled deep inside her, filling her over and over until she cried out the bastard's name and with sightless brown eyes saw heaven and stars, with bloodless lips kissed the sky.

When he stood in the lobby of her building, and the guards denied him entry, her eyes haunted him. In the back of his mind he remembered the tears that drowned her deep eyes until he suspected she could no longer see him. She probably wished it too. If it would help her breathe, he would have gladly vanished.

There were many things he would do for her, had done for her. Leaving her completely though—he was not yet that unselfish, that unassuming, that generous.

Chuck waited outside, in the cool, clean waiting room. Despite the many travesties that had painted his life, it was the first time he had been in a position such as that. To be honest, he had thought, since his first sexual encounter with Georgina, and the countless romps with faceless women after that, that by the time he was eighteen he would have paid for several of these. One or two girls would have looped him into coming with them. Yet he cruised on by without a care, and belatedly enough he had the very first chance to be here only now.

But he had never thought it would be her.

Not with her. Not for her.

Never her.

"Ten minutes," he murmured. That was how long it took to take a life. He had heard the quiet discussion of the couple who sat in the back row, discussing their options. They could take the pill, and come back to the clinic three times to complete the process, to clean the girl like they were vacuuming carpet. Or they could do it one time, for ten minutes.

Blair would not come back.

Out of all the women in his life, he hated her the most. For a split second, he would hate her, and it was a burning hatred that encompassed anything he felt for anyone else. The hatred was so intense that he wondered how it could be possible to hate so much and not turn to dust. And even before the intensity of it could level him, the same burning hatred morphed into the feeling that had been nameless for too long. And then he would be breathless, almost incapacitated, when he realized it was love.

The love killed him more, just because it reminded him of what he used to see in the eyes that haunted him. She used to look at him and he could recognize it lying behind the shadows of her eyes. When she used to speak to him, it was apparent. And the eyes that haunted him now were empty.

As if there had never been love then, and it was merely a figment of bitter imagination.

It was gone, and she was his nightmare come to life.

"Mr Bass?"

His eyesight shifted from the distance to the white form that had stopped in front of him. When his eyes adjusted he saw the nurse that had called Blair.

"Come with me please."

Was it done?

"Miss Waldorf won't stop crying. The doctor is asking if you can come in and calm her down."

If it was done, then how did they expect him to keep himself level-headed enough to do what they asked? His throat was closing, and he suspected it was the beginning of grief. It was impossible. He never even heard the heartbeat, or felt it move under his hand. It was barely human—just genderless tissue that was the product of conception.

Every time he buried himself inside of her, he loved her.

Maybe, just maybe, that was the loss.

"We can't go through the procedure unless we can calm her down," the nurse told him.

He faltered in his step. His mind drew a blank, and his heart thundered in his ears. Chuck stumbled towards the white column and rasped, "Wait." He rested heavily against the pillar to hold himself up, hen leaned his head back. He pressed his thumb and forefinger into the tear ducts of his eyes, took a deep breath of air, then released it heavily.

He heard her sobbing as he pushed the door open, saw her curled form on the bed, on top of the sheets. Her body shook as she cried audibly. This was what he had done to her.

"It's me," he said soothingly, wishing the words would calm her. Despite it all, the only thing he knew to do to soothe her was to take her into his arms.

"I don't want this anymore," she sobbed, and he almost cried in his own relief.

Today she needed him. She would push him away, for every chance before and after this, but today she needed him and he would be there. He had promised her once that he would show her who he was, how he loved her, and he had failed the last chance she had given him.

He took her home, stared down the guards who stood to warn him away. He had his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned against him as if life depended on it. He surprised Dorota by his presence, and when the maid moved to take Blair he shook his head and led her to the staircase.

"Did they do it, Mr Chuck?" the maid asked from behind him.

"No." He did not need to ask what it was the maid meant.

He did not see the older woman, but he knew her enough to know that Dorota had crossed herself. But his attention was on Blair, who had not spoken since he woke her in the limo to tell her they were home. When he opened the door and helped her out, her limbs were heavy.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

And she was silent.

He led her to her room, and she crawled into bed and turned on her side, keeping her back to him. He walked over to the other side of the bed and looked down at her. Her eyes were transfixed on the window. He wondered if she saw what was outside.

Even without her looking at him, Chuck knew those eyes would haunt him tonight. The sadness was palpable, almost as if it had a life of its own. She closed her eyes, as if in surrender.

"Blair," he asked softly, "what do you want us to do?"

She did not answer, but he knew she was awake. Sleeping people did not shed tears so quietly, so steadily. Chuck sat on the edge of the bed. While he waited for her answer, he reached for her ankles and undid the shoe clasp, then slid off the shoes one by one. He turned and looked at her face again, and this time he could see her watching him.

Tentatively, he placed a hand on her flat belly. There was no swell, no movement there. "We need to talk," he told her.

And she broke her silence. "I don't want you to be a part of my life," she told him. His jaw locked at the words. "I don't trust you not to break me every time I let you."

"I swear—"

"I love myself too much to give you another chance," she admitted.

One last chance, she had said. One last chance, and he had lost it with one exclamation.

"What about the baby?" he hazarded.

She nodded. "You can't be a part of my life," she told him. "But you can be as much a part of the baby's as you want." He assumed it was her gratitude for what he had done today. If only for that, she would bend. And only as far as she could give him back something he would not have otherwise. Give him this, and they would be even. She owed him nothing. There was nothing to give. "When you talk to me, it will be about the baby. Anything you do or say in my presence should be about the baby."

And it scared him, because she was the one he counted on. She held him together, all the days after his father died. He brought him back to the surface, when he found himself sinking.

She could not take it away.

"Do you still love me?" he asked, swallowing his pride, reminding her of the day he took her out of hell.

Her eyes. They haunted him. Haunting was death and death was dying. He knew, because when he saw her eyes, they were dead and empty. When he closed his eyes, they haunted him. Dead eyes he almost mourned them.

"No."

And with the word all the windows into her were shuttered against him. His hand on her belly fisted, as if burned.

"I don't even trust you," she admitted to him.

He wished she was lying and hurt, lashing out at him for loss. Instead, her dead eyes were neutral, passive. She was gone. And so was everything beautiful he had seen in her eyes all the moments before the day he knew she was pregnant.

There were pathways everywhere, and they crisscrossed bridges that invisibly brought every person to everyone else.

"I'll make it up to you," he promised her.

Somehow, the promise he uttered exhausted her. She did not bother to reply. Instead, he saw her eyes close, as if this was pointless conversation.

She was gone from him. He could feel it, even as she lay there so close. There were pathways, hundreds of them. He only needed to find the ones she had not closed to him. He turned to look at himself in the mirror. His gaze fell on the bouquet of flowers that had started to wilt. His eyes narrowed at the selection. He took the small black card from the vanity table and read the note.

He tossed the card back down to the table and turned to her. Her shoulders shook slightly.

He was Chuck Bass, and Basses never gave up so easily. The proof was sitting on the dresser, permeating the room with the fragrance of the scarlet and black Sturt's desert roses, Australian pink carnations, purple and yellow hyacinths. He glanced back at her and then closed his hand around the stems, pulled them out dripping from the vase, then threw them into the trash can.

Later he would tell Dorota to take out the trash.

He sat on the bed, then crawled in behind her. She stiffened, then demanded, "What are you doing?"

There were pathways to be discovered, and he would find them all, start over and over until he could find one that led back to her. Someday her eyes would come alive, and first face that she would see would be his.

"I want to think of names," he told her. If she kept her promise, she would let him stay for that.

"It's too early for that."

"I want a name, Blair." She had said it. The only reason he could talk to her, stay with her, was the baby. And he could draw this out for as long as he needed until he could reach her.

"I'm too tired for this," she whispered, trapped into a corner she had herself made.

"I'll be here when you wake up," he assured her. He placed an arm around his waist, then before she could protest, cupped her belly with the palm of his hand. She would let him stay, for the baby. Always, for the baby. "We almost lost it," he said softly. "I want to feel it."

She closed her eyes, drifted off to sleep.

tbc

* * *

**Chapter 6: Chapter 6**

* * *

**Part 6**

When she was younger, so many things interested her. Her interest was peaked by the slightest oddity, the smallest curiosity. Anything that was different, or ugly, or beautiful, sent her leaning forwarding with inquisitive eyes. She drank knowledge like water—eight glasses a day, they told her. She drank knowledge until she was bloated with it, and she floated in a pool of it while she lay in bed waiting for sleep to come.

She wanted to know so much, be involved in so many things, that she dreamed of them always.

But when Chuck Bass broke her heart, knowledge was poison and any trace of her passion died. She flipped through the pages of her book, idly memorizing the lines even if she did not care anymore about tests, or schools. She was in second period before she even realized that she had left her phone at home. It was not even that she missed it. The bell was about to sound out the end of the period when everyone checked their phones simultaneously and she realized that it was a Gossip Girl blast.

It would have been far too much of a coincidence if everyone received personal messages at the same time.

When everyone turned to look at her, her suspicion grew. When she saw them look her up and down, and whisper behind their hands, her suspicion was confirmed. The class grew loud with their low rumbling noise that the teacher dismissed them two minutes early.

Blair stood and thrust her chin up while her classmates eyed her on their way out the door.

She hoped they tripped.

When the room was empty, she walked outside stiffly. And she found the line of girls watching her with scorn. She wished Serena was around, and she could take her phone and read what the bitch had to say about her now.

Her throat tightened as she walked down the corridor, feeling the burning stares, knowing each person judged her for something that, as she heard small words here and there. Her eyes fell to the floor, studied the row of shoes for a moment.

"Can you believe it?" she heard a familiar voice say.

She lifted her eyes and saw Penny say the words to Kati. Blair narrowed her eyes and stopped in front of her. "Give me your phone," she demanded.

With a smirk, the other girl held the device to her. Blair snatched the phone and went directly to the last message received. "Blair," Penny continued, "why didn't you tell us? We could have gone with you."

"We're your friends, Blair," Kati added.

Her eyes were glued to the photograph, the jeering words underneath. It was Chuck, holding her close to his side. For the life of her she could not remember exactly when it was taken, until she saw the glass door behind her, read the small letters on the door. Chuck was leading her, tear-streaked pale face half-buried in his sleeve, to the limo.

She sent up an exclamation, at the clear message that came across from just the photograph. They had been careless. His jaw was set, purposeful and authoritative, as they made their way out. She was transfixed by the picture, could almost hear the whispers grow louder now that she knew what everyone was talking about.

"Don't worry, Blair. You're probably not the first in our class," Nelly pointed out, her voice tentative, as if she were afraid to speak.

"Not the first girl," Penny answered. With a smirk, she continued, "But definitely the first one to get full coverage."

A hush fell in the corridor. She wondered if it was because of Penny's statement. And then the hushed murmurs returned, so she turned, almost like turning her head in the water. Her eyes were swimming, and now all she could see through her watery gaze was the figure approaching her.

He was back, she suddenly remembered. He returned for her, he said—so she could be happy, he returned to the school he abhorred. He strode towards her, his legs eating up the distance from the entrance and to her. To make it here, right now, meant he walked out of class and towards her building the moment he received the text.

He did not stop, ignored the girls lining the corridors who had been watching her. She quickly brushed her fingers over her eyes.

He plucked the phone from her fingers and thrust it towards the girls. "Take it or I'll drop it," he growled, when the girls did not immediately act.

Penny snatched the phone from him. "We didn't know you were seeing each other," Penny said, and Blair heard the amusement in her voice.

"I hate it here," she whispered.

And it was unfair for her to say it, when he was only here because of her. "Then we're leaving," he said, his voice decided, almost like he was in charge. And she didn't trust that authority. He had been in charge once, when he was taking her away from the clinic, and her picture ended up in a gossip site online.

"No. I'm leaving," she corrected him. There was no 'we,' not anymore. "I can take care of myself."

The way she had been immobile at the sight of the picture on Penny's phone.

"We'll talk about it at home," he said quietly.

She shook her head, gathered her books close to his chest, then walked in front of him. She did not need to turn to know he followed closely behind her. All the way out of the building their gazes burned the back of her head.

"I'm not going back there," she said softly, the moment they were out of the building, walking across the courtyard.

He would not believe that. To him, school was foremost in her mind.

"You love school," he said gently. "This is just a roadblock." He laid a hand on her shoulder. "Take the day off. And then you'll see, you'll want to be in class in no time."

Funny how now he would be the one to encourage her. Chuck Bass respected nothing about high school.

"You love school," he added.

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. "Love dies."

He committed the mistakes, doubted her, made her feel like nothing when he was himself down and grieving. And she was pregnant, the subject of horrid speculation from people that were so far beneath her it was ridiculous that they were allowed to breathe the same air she did. He ruined her future—with everything he did and said, everything he could not.

She would never forgive him. Never, never, never.

"Finish your classes," she said coldly. Today she would celebrate the rest of her life sitting alone in her room. He would only eat up space, absorb heat and light. He was nothing but an obstacle. "I don't want to see you."

At the gate she raised a hand and flagged a cab. He moved to get in after her.

"Please, Chuck," she said, her voice falling. And it was the word that made him pause. She slammed the door behind her, and left him standing at the sidewalk.

Her house was so close, and she could have walked. She should have walked. But walking took too long, opened up opportunity that he would fall into step beside her. She didn't need him today. She would never need him anymore.

Always she was exhausted, like there was a small numbing tiredness that settled at the bottom of her spine. She paid the cab driver and pulled herself out of the cab, then made her way through the lobby.

Blair entered the elevator and leaned heavily at the back. When the doors opened, she stepped outside and was greeted by a colorful basket of fruits. She walked over to the beribboned basket and read the note on the familiar black card.

_Eat healthy._

"Miss Blair, you're back early!" Dorota exclaimed.

She forced a smile on her face. She was not interested, even in what her maid had to say. It did not matter anymore who it was from. She picked up an apple, plucked a banana, then chose a ripe pear. She handed the items to Dorota. "I'll wait in my room." She walked towards the stairs.

"You want I bring you lunch, Miss Blair?" She glanced back at the maid. Dorota looked down at the fruits in her hand. "You need more than just these."

"Then bring me everything we have," she said coldly.

"Miss Blair—"

"Don't ask if you don't want to hear the answer," Blair pointed out.

She kicked off her shoes then crawled into bed with all her clothes on. Blair picked up the remote and turned on the tv, playing asinine shows in the background as she stared sightlessly at the screen. Dorota arrived with the bowl of sliced fruits and what appeared to be piece of cordon bleu. Blair looked down at the tray, and back at Dorota.

She was too exhausted to complain.

Dorota placed the tray on the table beside her bed. The door closed behind Dorota. She lay down on the bed with the television on. She turned to her side and stared at the food.

Her stomach was rumbling when she woke up. She wanted food, greasy, cheesy, heavy. Her mouth watered and she spotted the food that Dorota had left. Four in the afternoon. She had turned into a lazy lump. The door opened.

"What are you doing here? I told you, Chuck. I want to be alone."

Even his smile was strained. Good. Soon she would wear him out and he would be too tired to come back where he was not wanted.

"I didn't come for you," he pointed out. "Don't be vain."

The words took her aback, and she could not protest. He handed her a brown paper bag and she opened it and smelled the sinful scent of fried onion rings and rich meat. "I thought the baby might want a burger."

He was evil, because it seemed exactly what she wanted. She pushed the bag back to him. "I'm not hungry." Her stomach groaned loudly. He seemed to have heard it, and grinned. Blair pulled the bag back and took an onion ring, munched on it.

She watched darkly as he pulled off his coat and hung it behind her door. He took a book from the coat and made his way towards her. And then he settled on the other side of the bed.

"Are you going to read to me?" she exclaimed in disbelief. "I'm not an invalid."

"Shut up," he interjected, "and listen." Blair pulled the burger out of the paper bag and unwrapped it, then eagerly bit into it. The juices filled her mouth, and she hoped this did not end the way it usually did. When it was this good, she almost always ended up clutching the ceramic bowl and forcing it out. Blair held her breath, almost ignored him until she heard him read. "Many of the early symptoms will continue on your third month. You may notice additional veins on your breasts, abdomen and legs. Your abdomen will also start to swell at the end of the month."

Blair lowered the burger. "Chuck, please stop."

"Your appetite will increase," he continued.

"Chuck," she said firmly, "I'm not discussing this with you."

His lips curved. "Alright."

"Alright?" she repeated. Chuck Bass did not easily give up. "Why?" she demanded.

He placed the book down and Blair glared at it. She took the book and leafed through the pages, then saw the bookmarked part. Her eyes widened at the yellow highlights on the text. He barely paid a quarter as much attention to his textbooks. "Emotions will swing from happiness to fear to joy to misgivings. You will be emotionally unstable, with frequent periods of unexplainable calm," she read the highlighted portion aloud. "Chuck, I told you we are not discussing me. You can't do this."

He met her eyes. She kept her gaze on him. She felt a surge of triumph when he was the one to look away. "Fine," he capitulated.

"Just the baby, Chuck. That's the only thing we have between us."

He reached for the book again. Blair turned back to the burger, and remembered his voice reading to her about the increase in her appetite. "Did you know," he read, "that by the end of the third month the baby will be fully formed—with distinct fingers and toes, hair and—"

"Really?" she breathed. Blair sidled close to him and peered at the book. "Look." She pointed to one of the highlighted lines. "The arms are longer than the legs." She chuckled. "Our baby probably looks scary right now." She looked up at him, and sucked in her breath at the proximity of his lips to hers. "You're not reading, Chuck," she whispered. "Why aren't you looking at the book?"

Her eyes fell to his lips, and she noticed the flare of his nostrils. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on hers. Instead of answering, he placed his hand on her abdomen. "I don't need to look at the book. I've memorized the book."

She placed her hand over his. The baby was moving now, according to the book, but they would not feel it yet. That was curious. Finally, there was something she wanted to know.

"Can I have your book?" she asked.

"I can get you a new one," he offered.

She shook her head against his. "I want yours. It's already highlighted."

Chuck straightened, then handed her the book. "I'll get a few more and highlight all the useful passages before I give them to you." He tipped her chin up, then placed a kiss on her nose. "I promise."

His promise. And it was a remembrance of the one thing she wanted to forget. Her smile faded.

Promises from Chuck Bass. Like he promised he would take care of her. Like he promised to show her who he was, that it would be different, that he would be everything she needed.

Never. Never promise anything.

tbc

* * *

**Chapter 7: Chapter 7**

* * *

**Part 7**

The month had been calm around them, and it sat oddly in his gut. Since she decided to take time away from school he had been missing her. It was not as if he hardly saw her, because since the day they had shared a book, and he had read to her about the growth of the baby, he had had a standing welcome into her afternoons. And he had used the welcome so much, so frequently he wore it thin at times. Even the company, which he had wrested out of his uncle's grasping hands, he had left for the most part for Lily and his advisers to run.

Someday he would have time for it. Lily had agreed. For now, he needed to be a seventeen year old. For now, he had school. To Chuck, the time was Blair's.

She had kicked him out of her house more times than he could count for the past month. He chalked those times up to mood swings, and waited out the hurricane that was her temper ensconced in the soft couch when she only threw him out of her room. When she demanded he leave her entire apartment, he would wait in the lobby.

Without fail, within the hour, he would get various clues that the coast was clear.

Like a text message that stated, "I want a steak. Medium rare."

Or a quick call in which he heard her say, "Snow cones, Chuck. Avocado-flavored, with a real avocado on top."

He figured out all the minor stores in Manhattan, and drove his secretary crazy helping him search. The avocado ice treat, in particular, sent him running to Brooklyn instead. The thing had melted by the time he went back to her place. He had been scared when he offered it to her, but she seemed delighted with the effort. "I like it melted," she told him, then proceeded to drink the treat. He had made a face of disgust. "I'm going to get fat," she realized.

Even exhausted, he was smart enough to know he needed to respond with, "You're always going to be pretty."

Once he thought he was being very nice and generous, and offered to take her on a shopping trip after he arrived in her house after school. She took it to mean she was getting too big for her clothes, threw a chicken wing at him and pointed to the door. Chuck had shuffled downstairs to the living room and lay down on the couch. He picked up the magazine, a Cosmo which he thought was Blair's but turned out to be Dorota's, and read through the bedside astrologer and wryly thought he had not gotten any for nearly four months.

Blair had come running down the stairs, and he had sat up quickly on the couch with his heart in his throat. "What?" he demanded.

"You're still here!" she gasped.

"Do you need anything?" he inquired sharply, direct to the point.

Her face softened, and he recognized the look by now. "I want papaya pizza."

He slowly sighed in relief. "There's no such thing as papaya pizza, Blair."

She locked her jaw and turned around, stomped back up the stairs. An hour later, he found himself helping Dorota slice open a ripe papaya and placing strips on a pizza.

That night, he let her feel her abdomen and the slight swelling that he book had predicted. Sometimes effort paid off, none more than this.

It was a Friday when his heart stopped. He had just finished an exam and was leaving the classroom when he checked his phone and found the eight missed calls registered. He checked his messages and found one from Dorota, asking him to come to the house. He had cut the rest of his classes and raced directly to the apartment, and wondered if his touching the now obvious distension of her stomach was bad luck.

He could still remember the slight fluttering he had felt in there, like there were butterflies inside.

The elevator opened and he saw Dorota, who appeared worried.

"Where is she?" he asked. He had the limo standing by, ready to take them to the hospital if it was needed. Dorota nodded towards the living room.

Chuck entered and spotted Eleanor finally back from her trip, with Blair sitting on the chaise primly, her hands on her lap. She was wearing a loose top, but even then the curve of her belly was visible, stark against her petite frame. Eleanor finally knew.

"Are you two getting married?" was Eleanor's first question to him.

He stepped forward, kept his eyes on Blair, who was looking down at the magazine lying on the coffeetable in front of her. It was the magazine he had been reading just two days before. He hoped she hadn't run out of baby books to read. "Your daughter isn't ready to marry me," he told Eleanor. Chuck could not believe the conversation, until he remembered a conversation a long time ago that he had with Nathaniel. Eleanor and Anne had been prepared to throw a wedding party for the two. He had to remember that the woman had grown up on a different Upper East Side than he or Blair.

"If she's not ready for the consequences, she shouldn't have slept with you," Blair's mother said sharply.

He saw Blair wince, wanted to squeeze her hand.

Eleanor turned to Blair. "Is it his?"

And that was what made him snap. "It's mine," he interrupted, his voice firm and abrupt.

And finally, Blair looked up at him in surprise. It could have been the certainty in his voice, or the fervor with which he insisted it.

"Neither of us can force her to do anything she doesn't want to do," Chuck continued.

Eleanor's hands fisted, but not before Chuck noticed the tremor of her fingers. "Do you know what kind of humiliation this is going to be?"

"Careful, mom," Blair whispered finally. "Don't say anything bad."

"You haven't even graduated. I can't condone this, Blair. What will the society ladies say?"

"How do you plan to survive? I assure you, your father will not be pleased about this."

Blair shook her head. Chuck interrupted, "I can take of her. She can take care of herself."

"You're not getting married," Eleanor repeated.

"It's 2009, mom," Blair responded. She turned to Chuck, then asked, "Will you wait in my room?" He wanted to stay, but she pleaded with her eyes, and he recognized the beginning of a mother and daughter talk. "Please."

And so, with a large amount of reservation, Chuck climbed up the stairs and left Blair to discuss with her mother. He turned back to look at them and saw Blair look at her mother squarely in the eye. The determination made him proud.

But he knew her, knew the strain it caused her to respond to her mother, saw the stress in the corners of her mouth. He entered her room and settled on the edge of the bed.

It could have been hours later when she finally entered her own room and closed the door behind her. She leaned her head back on the door and took a deep shuddering breath. She held herself up stiffly, and he wanted to reach out and rub the tension away from her shoulders. She opened her eyes and looked down at him.

"This doesn't count towards anything," she warned him. Upon hearing those words, he knew she was on the edge, ready to break, to do something she was not completely willing to do.

"I was thinking of you," he answered.

"Don't. I just—" Her voice trembled.

"It's okay, Blair," he encouraged her. Speaking with his father about the disappointments he had caused him was enough to break him, and he was heartless. He could not imagine what toll it took on Blair to speak about this with the mother she had been aiming and failing to please since she was a child.

She opened her mouth, and a sob caught in her throat. "This doesn't mean anything." And then, she walked over to him, sat on his lap and sank into his arms. She buried her face in his neck, and he felt the hot liquid of her tears start to burn his skin. "It's ruining my life."

Their baby.

And her words were like a knife into his gut.

But he had known, in the back of his head, that this was bound to happen. The last month had been too peaceful, too calm, and at times he even pretended she still loved him. He had no right to correct her. And so he requested, "Tell me what's wrong. I'll fix it."

Slowly, she pulled away and looked down at him. He saw it in her eyes, the reluctance, the effort to make a decision.

_I don't even trust you._

He held his breath.

"Promise me?" she asked, almost as if she was herself uncertain.

All his promises have been broken before. He knew it.

Never never never again.

"I promise," he swore, branding it in his brain. "If you tell me what's wrong, Blair, I promise I'll fix it. I'll fix it all for you."

He hoped she knew – he would never break a promise again. Not if she gave him one more chance. One last chance.

She had heard the words before, and he had broken the last. But God, he needed another one. She needed to give him another one.

"Please," he said.

She moistened her lips. Almost as if she remembered her mother's words, her eyes filled with tears, and she laid her cheek on his shoulder. He felt the gentle swell of her rounded belly against his abdomen. His hand splayed over it, and knew it was special, wondered how it could be the reason that Blair was so sad now.

"I'll think about it," she said.

Chuck nodded, his lips buried in her hair. "I wish you would."

He had left her sleeping in her bed, and he had gone home. The next day, after school, as usual he went to her home and Eleanor refused him entry. He called her phone and found her number rolling into voicemail. In a desperate attempt to reach her, he had texted Dorota and received no response.

If Eleanor had sent her away, the world was nothing. He had found her once, in Hong Kong, half the world away. He would find her anywhere.

It teased his brain briefly, taunted it even, that Blair could have thought and decided against his offer. His heart hurt at the thought. He steeled himself.

He had laid himself out on the table, and in the end, just like he told Eleanor, the decision was hers to make.

He sat in the courtyard and pulled out his book, took the cap off his pen and highlighted the passages she would need. Next month. Month five. They could find out if it would be a boy or a girl.

"Chuck."

He looked up at Dan Humphrey and scowled. He closed the book, because whatever he was reading was only for him and Blair. "What?"

The other boy nodded towards the gate. Chuck turned and saw her, standing just outside in an oversized gray coat. He searched her face for a sign, terrified she was there for a goodbye.

And then, very slowly, her lips curved into a tentative smile.

Chuck rose from his seat, pocketed the small book, and slid his hands in his pockets. He started walking towards her. She walked towards him, meeting him halfway into the courtyard.

She spoke first. "I thought about it."

He cleared his throat. "Yeah?" he said softly, not wanting to pressure her.

"I want to trust you."

"You can."

"Prove it," she replied. "Fix it, Chuck."

"Tell me." He reached for her hand, and did not care even as he heard the cameras clicking. "I'll do anything for you, Blair. I want to make everything up to you."

She nodded, but her eyes still spoke volumes of her doubt.

He would happily spend every day for the rest of his life making sure he removed bit by agonizing bit of that doubt from her eyes.

"My mom thinks the only way we can avoid any scandal on our name is if I get married, or if I got rid of the baby."

She wasn't getting rid of the baby. They had been over that. He could never be violent to a woman, especially someone so much older, but if that woman forced Blair to a clinic after the trauma that he had led her away from, he could not trust himself or what he could do.

"She's not going to marry you off to any random stranger," he told her.

Where the hell did these people get their ideas? It was ridiculous and unreal, for Eleanor Rose to insist on something so antiquated.

"Either that, or I lose everything."

It was completely improbable. Blair Waldorf would never be left with nothing.

"I left." She smiled sadly. "Now I'm completely cut off. I don't have a phone, or my clothes. I can't even talk to Dorota." Her brows furrowed. "I have no college fund."

She enumerated everything he knew she told herself mattered. "I can give you all of that," he told her. Probably not Dorota, but he would think of it later. He pulled her to him in a silent reminder that she could say it all, that she could trust him. "Tell me, Blair. Tell me. I'll fix it."

"You can't," she whispered, telling him that she had lost much more than what he could provide her.

"I promised."

He hoped he could give it to her. If he couldn't, he would move heaven and earth to find a way.

"I thought," she admitted, "when she came back, and I told her, she could help me through it. I wanted her to be my mother, Chuck, even if it's just for this." She sighed. "I need my mom, Chuck. It's scary to do this alone."

Alone. Even after the last month, she still thought of it as doing it alone.

"Can you make her forgive me?"

"Forgive you?" he parroted. What did Eleanor need to forgive?

"You promised. Make her forgive me, Chuck. I need my mom."

When the hell would he learn never to promise anything?

tbc

* * *

**Chapter 8: Chapter 8**

* * *

 

**Part 8**

Before the baby, even when she was most in love with him, Blair never thought she would be entirely dependent on Chuck Bass for anything in her life. And now, five months after his promise, the one he broke with a harsh accusation and hatred in his eyes and she swore she would never again be in that place.

No more drowning in him. Blair Waldorf did not need Chuck Bass.

She settled into the comfortable sofa that all Bass hotels boasted. She would not place her life in his hands, but with the small amount her father provided her, it had almost been ridiculous to consider any other residence than a room in the Palace.

"You should stay with me," he had offered, when she first told him.

But it was Lily's place, and Chuck's home. And she could not count on him. Not yet.

She watched him as he moved around her small suite. He peered inside her small refrigerator and spoke curtly into his phone. A half an hour later she admitted into the suite a maid who stacked bottles of water and fresh fruits in her small kitchen.

"Are you disappointed?" she asked softly.

He had been searching his phone, and she was sure, based on their almost nightly ritual now, that he was searching for what restaurant he would call to deliver food. He looked up at her in surprise. "Why would I be disappointed, Blair?"

They had come back from the doctor. She slipped her shoes off. She could feel his eyes on her, and she wondered why she would even want to know. Whether or not he was disappointed should not matter to her. But still, it was the baby.

He loved the baby. Showed her how much in every possible permutation of the word.

He walked towards her now, placed the phone on the coffee table, and faced her. "How can I ever be disappointed?"

The swell was evident now, and he adored touching it when she let him. Every day, he touched it more. She allowed him more. Soon, she knew, she would let him push her blouse up so he could place his palm against the tight skin of her abdomen. He had not yet been able to do that before.

Every day he came closer to it.

"That we didn't find out if it's a boy or a girl."

It was the fifth month, and he had highlighted the passage in their books. The ultrasound they had scheduled for the day was supposed to tell them.

He sighed. Blair's eyes fluttered down to where his hand closed over hers. She held her breath when his other hand rested on her belly, where it had now become familiar. "I am disappointed," he admitted. She nodded, because it was expected. Someone like Chuck Bass did not do well with waiting. "Because the doctor said the baby's too small for us to see. I want to know, Blair, am I doing a shitty job taking care of you?"

She should tell him it wasn't his responsibility, that he shouldn't be taking care of them, but it would be unfair in comparison to the entire time he would come to her after school, on top of the hours he spent in the company. He was trying. Even in her state, she could tell.

It was not something she could admit, but maybe it was what made her refuse her father and Roman when they offered to fly her to France after her confrontation with Eleanor. She told them she couldn't take the baby away from Chuck. She knew she could not tear herself from the disaster looming in the distance while she relied on him more and more.

Would it kill her, she wondered, when he finally did what Chuck Bass was bound to do, and leave her hanging just when she had completely, reluctantly, placed her trust in him?

"You're doing fine," she answered simply.

No need to tell him that there were moments when he did so well she almost stopped worrying, almost loved him.

"Then why is the baby too small?"

"Sometimes they just are," she told him. A brief smile touched her lips. "Maybe it's a girl."

At that, his fingers splayed wider. He looked down with awe, and Blair caught his wrist, lifted his hand away. Maybe it was time. She could give him a gift. She slowly pulled the blouse up to reveal the tight skin of her abdomen. His eyes lifted to hers, and she lifted his hand back up so he could her.

Skin on skin. Like the thin cloth made a difference.

Judging by the look in his eyes, it was almost like it did.

His hand was so warm, and she had been so cold for so long. She held her breath. Every day, the more she trusted him, the more she felt the stirring low in her belly that had entirely nothing to do with the baby. She had not felt it for so long, not for him, not for anyone.

For so long, she had wondered if perhaps she was incapable of it.

Yet here it was now, ever present, making her throb down where she had not been touched for so long. Her lips parted. She felt the flush on her face, and looked up at him in embarrassment. She felt herself moistening, getting ready, and she could swear he smelled her.

"Blair," he whispered.

She breathed harshly, her breasts rising and falling. His hand moved on her belly, and even the simple gesture made her shift in her position. She wet her lips. His gaze moved to her chest, and her eyes fell to where her nipples stood erect from under the blouse.

"Do you—" he started uncertainly. "Do you want—"

He did this to her, this impossible craving, this unexplainable desire. If she were not pregnant, she would have had more control. "No, I don't want," she responded. His hand fell from her abdomen. Blair caught his hand and slowly pulled it to her thigh, slowly drawing it to where she throbbed, where she knew, even inches away, he could feel the heat. She corrected him, "I need you."

He swallowed, and he asked, as if uncertain, "Are you sure?" Even as he asked, she released a cry when he buried his fingers against her panties.

She grasped his shirt and pulled him to her, slanted her lips on his. "It's just sex," she gasped against his lips, even to her ears she sounded half-convincing.

He removed his hand from her belly and reached for the red necktie of his school uniform. His hand worked quickly to loosen it while the fingers of his other hand squirmed to push the crotch of her panties out of the way. "Not for me, it isn't," he told her.

She almost stopped, just because it was not what she wanted from him. At least, she told herself it was not. It was easier with no expectations.

"Just fuck me," she pleaded. "Don't force me to think."

He rose to his knees on the sofa and looked down at her. She flushed at the thought of what he must be seeing, as she breathed harshly half-lying on the couch, her blouse gathered above her distended belly, her thighs splayed wide for him making her skirt bunch around her hips. "You look amazing," he proclaimed hoarsely.

Chuck unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants down. The pant legs caught in his shoes. He pulled off his shoes and discarded his pants before lying on top of her.

"Wait," he gasped. "I don't want to crush the baby."

"Get off," she told him. Chuck rolled off her and let himself settle on the carpet. She pulled herself up and extended a hand to him. When he took her hand, she informed him, "I know how."

He allowed her to pull him to the bedroom. She looked back at him and smiled fondly at the sight of him padding through the suite only in his unbuttoned white St Jude's shirt and socks. Blair plopped down on the edge of the bed, pulled off her panties, then parted her legs so he could move between them. She took his hands and placed them underneath her thighs. She laid down on the sheets.

"Like this."

He edged closer to her, standing above her. He lifted her legs up and around his waist, and she gasped when her ass lifted from the bed. He caught himself in his hand and positioned himself at her entrance. "You've been researching," he commented, gritting himself as he started pushing inside her. "You're so wet. So good."

"I need you so much," she breathed. With a sigh she felt herself part to accept him. She was so slick he slid in easily, and she felt herself adjust around him like she was welcoming home someone so familiar.

He pushed inside her slowly, gently, in movements so rhythmic and measured she swore she could count to them. It was so different from all the other times they had been together. There was none of the frantic coupling, the race to a climax. Tears rose in her eyes at the harsh breaths and the intent gentle power she felt in his hips while he thrust inside her.

When she broke, she did not explode. Instead, she felt herself peaking steadily until she reached the top with a silent scream. And then it was like a waterfall.

She felt him come inside her, felt his hot semen pouring inside her, felt him grow flaccid and slide out of her. Her feet fell to rest on the floor. He carefully pulled away and collapsed beside her on the bed. He stared up at the ceiling while he tried to catch her breath. Blair laid her hand on his sweaty chest. He turned his head to face her. "Did I hurt you?" he asked.

He had been so gentle, and wonderful. She shook her head. "The baby's okay."

He repeated, "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head. She trailed her fingers from his chest to the line of his throat, brushing above his Adam's apple. She did not know when it was her tears spilled, but knew it did, because she felt his thumb brush across her cheek. Her fingers trailed down the line of his jaw.

He turned his head and he brushed his lips against her fingers. "I love you."

She turned and crawled up the bed, so she could rest her head on the pillows. He stayed where he was, where his head was only at the level of her stomach. He reached for her abdomen again, placed a kiss on the tight skin there. And then he stood up and started closing the buttons of his shirt. And she knew she needed a response. "Sometimes," she admitted, "I don't hate you anymore."

Sometimes, she loved him.

He entered the bathroom. She heard the sound of him peeing, and wondered if this was really something she needed to hear. To her surprise, it was even comforting when it should have been disgusting. She pulled herself up from the bed. She passed by him on the way to the bathroom and she looked down at the toilet bowl. Found the seat down. She sat and peed.

He leaned against the door, looking at her as if he knew she needed him to see.

"You still haven't gone to see my mom, Chuck," she reminded him. He had promised, and she needed to remind herself that she could still not completely count on his promises. "She's leaving for Japan tonight."

"I'll go there now," he assured her. He hastily left the bedroom, and she wondered if she hurt him. She couldn't tell anymore. He hid it so well.

She walked over to the living room to ask him, and found him on the phone placing an order for dinner. She hated hotel food these days.

"Italian?" he asked her.

"Eggplant parmigiana."

She watched him get dressed in his discarded uniform, then walked back over to her. He placed a kiss on the corner of her mouth. "Finish it. Girl or not, the baby is underweight," was his reminder. He did not leave money, or a credit card for the food. The man would be paid at the lobby, as usual.

They did not talk about it, not even when she discovered that the hotel did not bill her father as Harold arranged.

A mere thirty minutes later she heard the doorbell ring. She walked over to the door and pulled it open. Her stomach was rumbling. Her pasta had arrived, and she eagerly took the food from the delivery boy. When he left, she saw another boy approach, with a familiar bouquet.

He found her.

Blair took the black card. "Throw that away," she told the boy. She read the note.

 _I'll see you soon_.

She tore the card up in little pieces. Not now. Not anymore. He was not going to destroy them again. She shut the door, waited for the electronic lock to engage. She leaned her head back against the wood and sucked in a deep breath.

Blair placed the pasta on the table, then walked to the bedroom. She picked up her phone and pressed the call button.

"I lied," she said into the mic. "I don't hate you at all." She heard his breathing ease over the phone. She gripped it tightly to her ear as she walked back out of the bedroom.

The bastard was coming, and she had never been more scared in her life.

"Will you sleep over tonight?" she asked. "Please."

"Of course," he answered. She sighed in relief. "I'll come straight from Eleanor's."

"And Chuck," she added, before he hung up. "I think I'm starting to fall in love with you again."

The pause that followed was as pregnant as she was. He cleared his throat. "I want you to say that again later," he requested. "When I'm there, and I can see your face."

She nodded, until she realized he could not see her. "Alright," she agreed.

"I'll see you soon," he promised.

tbc

* * *

**Chapter 9: Chapter 9**

* * *

 

**Part 9**

She was falling in love with him.

His legs ate the space from the hotel entrance to the elevator in no time. He was going to see her. He would knock on the door and find her in the suite, and for the first time in a good while he was going to come home to someone who loved him.

God, he wanted to see the look in her eyes when she said it. Over the phone he had been frozen, unable to say something in return except to ask for it again. When she said it, if she said it again, in front of him, he was going to brand the moment in his brain. It would be a memory he would repeat over and over in his brain.

Like the night he had run to her for comfort the night after his father was buried, and she had wrapped him in her arms and gave her a home in her bed.

His hand slipped in his pocket to grip the ring inside. The diamond bit into his thumb.

Not even Eleanor Rose could ruin the night for him. His visit to her had yielded results that Blair would not have wanted, but it was not going to be what ruined the beginnings of what he and Blair now had.

" _What do you mean you won't see her?" he had repeated, his voice soft, low. Eleanor's voice had been cool, with barely restrained emotion. The woman looked at him as if she hated him, as if he had destroyed her family. He returned the words and made them sound like a threat. He had mastered the art. It was a skill he had never imagined he would ever use on Blair's mother._

" _She wouldn't listen to me. If you two are arrogant enough to feel that you don't need guidance in this, then you have to deal with this on your own."_

_He had swallowed, almost thought he saw his father behind Eleanor Rose. Chuck felt his jaw lock. He shook his head. "We can deal with this. We are more ready for a baby now than you or my father ever were when you had us," he told her. "But Blair seems to think she needs her mother."_

" _Charles, I am not the cold hearted woman you seem to think I am. I want what's best for my daughter."_

_Not coldhearted was right. She was heartless. It was the only way she could have proposed what she wanted to her daughter. "You want her to get rid of my baby."_

" _Get married," Eleanor had suggested. "Then I will come and take care of her. I can answer her questions, Charles. She does need a mother. You presume you can take care of her, but you can never do it the way a mother can."_

" _Can you?" Was she not holding a mother's love hostage in her demand? "I can spend a lifetime getting married to your daughter in every city and religion in the world, but we are not getting married until she's ready, certainly not because that's what you want."_

" _Then tell her to forget that she has a mother."_

He sucked in his breath. He rang the bell and leaned on the doorframe. Chuck heard her feet padding across the floor, quickly. Like she was running. That was something they needed to talk about. He would not have her running anymore. She was getting bigger now, and it was just the two of them. They needed to take care of her.

"Blair," he started when the door opened, "we should—"

And then she flew into his arms. He wrapped her in an embrace. Her hair was loose around her face and he found his nose buried in its scent. She clung to him with the baby pressed between them. In his arms she was almost trembling.

He pressed his lips on her forehead. "What is it, Blair? What's wrong?"

She looked up at him with liquid eyes. "Nothing. I missed you."

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her inside the suite. He closed the door behind them. She turned around and he took his hand and raised it to his lips. There was time enough for everything else later. First of all, "Tell me," he requested.

She smiled, because she knew, and because, he could see, she wanted to say them. Moments like this, he almost felt that maybe he had done enough good in his life to make up for everything else he had done. Someday when their baby was born, and she—Blair seemed convinced it was a girl—went to school and interacted with other children, he might regret some of the decisions he had made in retaliation to what he had perceived as his father's hatred.

Blair smiled, and when she smiled, he felt like a hero, like the best person in the world, like a philanthropist and a philosopher, like someone who could be a great father.

"I'm falling in love with you, Chuck," she said.

Like someone who could be a good partner.

He cupped her face with his hands, almost reverently, almost like she was fragile porcelain he was handling, like it he was too harsh, too abrupt, too loud, she was going to break and he would lose her. His lips were gentle when they teased her mouth. She gave a soft moan from the back of her throat.

"I love you, Blair."

She nodded. "Have dinner with me."

"I'll book us a table. Are you in the mood for Butter?"

He missed the warmth of her body when she turned around to walk to the kitchen. He followed and stopped at the doorway to watch her pop the parmigniana into the microwave. This was the closest he would probably come to watching her prepare dinner, but it was a sight he would never get tired of seeing.

"I called for roast chicken," she told him.

He saw the table setting complete with a tapered candle at the center of the table. She placed the steaming pasta on the table and gestured towards the food.

He walked over to her and kissed her cheek. "Thanks for dinner." He pulled a chair for her and sank into the seat across from her.

They were halfway through dinner when she asked the inevitable. "What did my mom say?"

The fork was midair. Slowly, he placed it down on his plate. She was beautiful, and relaxed, and it seemed like she was happy. He cleared his throat. "I didn't get to see her," he said. "She had already left by the time I arrived."

She nodded, and he helped her place the plates in the sink for the maid to take care of the next day. Evening ablutions were different, but even if they had never done them together before, he felt a familiar warmth in the pit of his stomach to brush his teeth with the hotel's disposable toothbrush while she used her green electric one.

"Can I keep a toothbrush here?" he asked tentatively.

She spat and washed her mouth with water. He met her eyes in the mirror. "I'll buy you a new one tomorrow while you're in school," she promised.

He nodded. They slept in one bed, right beside each other. Her back was turned to him, and he was the one who slept behind her now, with his arm around her belly, holding her and their baby. He felt the movement under the palm of his hand, and he sucked in his breath. He wanted to ask, but it was so peaceful and quiet that he hesitated to break the silence.

And then her hand was over his, when he thought she was asleep. She had been. He hoped he did not wake her with his surprise.

"She started moving restlessly tonight, right after you left," she said sleepily. She yawned. "Feel her?"

"I do." He pressed a kiss on her arm.

"Chuck," she breathed.

"Yes?"

"When will you stop loving me?"

The entire night he had hesitated, but this time there was no need. "Never."

In the darkness, she reached for him. He sucked in his breath as her hands fumbled to his pants. She cupped him. "I want you." He had read far too many books to think this was more than her hormones. But at the back of his mind, he hoped it also had something to do with the words she admitted to. Chuck allowed her to settle over him, held on to her hips as she moved up and down, as she sheathed him in her heat. She gasped above him, arched her spine and threw her head back so that her hair teased his knees.

She came with a soft, muffled cry, and fell above him. He released himself inside her and wrapped his arms around her. Her hand lay above his heart. Chuck slipped his hand into the pocket of his pants. And then, while she gasped to regain her breath, he slipped the ring on her finger.

He watched her as she blinked at her finger. "Chuck?"

"You're it," he told her. "I want you to know that you're it."

She raised herself from him and sat on the bed, looked down at the diamond now glittering on her finger. "It's beautiful."

He raised himself on his elbow. "Like you. I picked it out weeks ago. The moment I saw it, I knew it was going to be the ring that would be in all our pictures for the rest of our life."

"Chuck, I'm not—"

"Ready."

"Yeah." She looked up at him, and she almost looked ashamed. "But if I was—"

"It's okay. I know you're not ready. Think of it as a standing proposal."

She took off the ring and held it up to him. "I'm sorry, Chuck."

She was falling in love with him.

It was a chant in his head the entire time. He closed her fingers over the ring. "Keep it. What will I do with it?" He sat up on the bed and pressed a kiss on the corner of her lips. She closed her eyes and the tears fell, a couple of drops on his cheek. "I love you, Blair. I'll look at your hand every morning and someday I'll see the ring. And then I'll start looking for venues, and calling planners, and I'll be fitted for my tux, because the day I see you wear it I'll know you're ready."

She nodded, and she was crying in earnest now. She looked down at the ring, then back up at Chuck.

"It's okay," he assured her. "Maybe in the future?"

Blair closed her eyes. "In the future."

"I'll never stop loving you, never stop taking care of you, even if you never wear it. But God, I hope you will."

They lay down on the bed, this time she wrapped her arm around him. Chuck closed his eyes and saw the ring winking at him from the bedside table where she had placed it.

"My mom doesn't want me, does she? She's not gonna forgive me."

"She'd already left."

Blair shook her head against his chest. "I called Dorota, Chuck. I know you talked to her."

He drew a deep breath. He pressed a kiss on the top of her head. "I'm sorry, Blair."

"It's okay. I have you."

tbc

* * *

**Chapter 10: Chapter 10**

* * *

**Part 10**

Sometimes she had nightmares, and in her nightmares she was drowning. Her brain would seem for Chuck, just when she started to slip into oblivion. She would look up, up to the surface of the water and Chuck would be floating there, looking down at her with sightless eyes.

Having drowned before she did.

And then Jack was her savior. He would dive into the water and lay his lips on hers. Just before the blackness he would breathe air into her lungs. Over and over he would keep her alive. Longer and longer she was able to look up at Chuck's dead eyes.

In her dream, the decision was not split second, but an agonizing crawl. She kicked away from Jack. Deliberately she opened his mouth and sucked in the dark, murky water.

And then she drowned.

She woke up beside Chuck. Always now. From a toothbrush his presence grew in her suite. A shampoo bottle next, together with conditioner. Soon there his clothes in her closet, and the small suite could no longer accommodate them comfortably.

"I'll get you a bigger suite," he offered, still sounding uncertain.

It was an invitation. For her it sounded like an invitation to stop the pretense. Her small suite was in her father's name, but the hotel never charged the standing credit card with even one day of her stay. In one moody day she ordered a ton of food from room service to test them, and nothing was billed.

That afternoon, Chuck arrived with Nate and Serena to help her finish the food.

"B, you're so big!" Serena exclaimed.

Chuck emerged from the kitchen with four plates, corrected his stepsister. "No she's not." He handed a plate each to Serena and Nate, then went to the room service trays and started heaping food on the two plates he balanced in one hand. "She needs to get a little bigger."

Serena walked over to the food and plucked a shrimp tempura from the tray and started munching on it.

Blair shook her head and crinkled her nose. "I'm expected to be smaller. It's our first baby."

Nate's hand hovered above the roast pork and stopped there. Serena's shrimp lowered to her plate. Chuck paused and looked up at her. She walked over to him and took one of the plates from his hand.

"What?" she prompted.

He shook his head with a grin and dropped a kiss on her nose. "Just eat more. I want to see the sex of the baby on our next checkup."

"It's a girl," she insisted.

"Are you willing to bet on that?" he asked. Chuck placed three more dumplings on her plate.

She glanced at her best friend, who was watching them with her eyebrows raised. "What do you want?" Blair asked Chuck, agreeing to the wager.

"You know what I want," he replied softly. His thumb brushed over her bare ring finger. "But I'm not going to wager that."

"Suddenly not so brave, are you?"

"Move in with us," Serena suggested.

Nate shook his head and took his food with him to the couch. Blair looked at him and noticed him looking at the swell of her abdomen. Chuck placed a hand on the tight skin. "Move in with me to a bigger suite."

"Fine," she answered. "I'll move."

Before Serena and Nate left, she went over to her ex-boyfriend and cocked her head to the side. Nate turned to her and nodded towards her abdomen. "I never pictured you looking like this."

She shrugged her shoulders. "Big?"

He gestured to her abdomen. "Pregnant."

"We were going to get married, weren't we?"

"We were going to have all the works," he agreed. His gaze shifted to someone behind her. "But someone's beat me to it."

She felt Chuck press up behind her and wrap his arms around her. Her hands rested on his arms and she smiled up. "Bye, Nate."

Jack darkened her door a week later. The man looked at her as if she were an apparition, when she was clearly the one who needed to be frightened of a ghost. He had nearly destroyed her life. Even now, when conversation turned to the past, she still glimpsed a shadow in Chuck's eyes when he remembered Jack.

He held out a bouquet of flowers to her, with the same exotic fragrance that accompanied her dying dreams.

"How did you find out where I am?"

He stepped into the suite, uninvited, his looming presence crowding her suddenly. She backed away from him and pressed against the wall beside the door.

His eyes scanned the interior of the suite. "It wasn't hard to find out where the boy's allowance is going. I might be an ocean away but I'm still an executive in the company."

It was two. More than two more hours before Chuck would arrive. "I wish you would leave," she whispered.

He stepped closer to her. She backed up, but realized her mistake when she felt the wall dig deeper into her back. "I'm not impressed," he said, gesturing to the small suite. His eyes fell to the swell of her abdomen. He lifted his hand and placed it on her belly. She flinched. Always, like when he kissed her, or when he told her he wanted her, or every time he touched her.

Even then, on that one dark night she felt so alone, when she meant nothing to Chuck, she flinched at his touch.

In Hong Kong Jack had grown violent at her flinch. She took deep breaths, and she could feel her body quiver when his fingers splayed over her abdomen.

"I didn't think you would look so pregnant now. How long has it been?"

She shivered. And she hated that her eyes filled with tears, because she should be stronger. She was stronger. With Chuck, with Nate, even with her mother.

And still Jack overwhelmed her.

"Six months," she answered. "Please, Jack, just go."

His hand moved to her neck. He brushed his thumb across her chin. His hand crawled to his nape, and she felt his fingers behind her ear. "Your pulse is racing," he told her. "Your body still responds to me."

She admitted, "I'm afraid of you. That's why."

He snatched his hand away. "In Hong Kong I was at the edge of my patience. I was exhausted. You left me after the night we had. What did you expect?"

Her hand trembled when she laid it on his chest. "Jack, I need you to stop. Please. I'm with Chuck."

"Aren't you scared, Blair?" he asked. Easily now, she recognized the tone of his voice. "He's running a company. All your friends are heading off to college now. And you're here, waiting for him, completely dependent on someone who can be swayed so easily."

"Like you did."

"And it was easy," he admitted. He leaned to whisper in her ear, "He can get rid of you just like that. And then where would you be?"

"You don't know him anymore," she told the man. She couldn't breathe. From her nose, from her mouth, she was drowning. He was drowning her with his proximity, with his words. "Chuck would never leave me."

Jack leaned back, and she sucked in air like she was breaking through water. "I'll be here. When he gets tired of you, Blair, I'll take care of you."

She closed her eyes. "Leave."

"I still dream of you at night. Do you dream of me?" he breathed on her face.

He smelled like New Year's Eve.

The door closed. When she heard the click, she opened her eyes. Blair pushed away from the wall and raced to the bathroom. She leaned over the sink and heaved. She turned on the faucet to fill the bathtub, then sprinkled her lavender bath powder in. She watched as it built into foam.

She shed her clothes and let them fall to the floor. Her skin crawled with memories. She could almost feel Jack's hand on her belly, on her neck, on her face. She sank into the water and held her breath as she allowed her face to be submerged in the water.

She broke back up and sucked in air. And then, she leaned her head against the marble. She closed her eyes.

"Blair."

She opened her eyes, and saw Chuck standing over the tub holding the bouquet. "You won't ever leave me, would you?"

His grip around the bouquet tightened. He tossed the flowers to the side. "Jack was here."

"I don't want to ask. I don't want to let him affect me."

He sat on the side of the tub. Water soaked through the seat of his pants. "I'll never leave you." She reached her hand up to rest on his thigh. "Are you almost done?"

"Yeah," she whispered.

"Come on. We're going out."

An hour later, she found herself holding up white silk mittens and showing them off to Chuck. He nodded, and he handed the mittens to the sales assistant standing by them. He picked up soft baby boots and dangled them in front of her. She smiled in approval.

She spied the girls taking pictures of them on their camera phone. Chuck turned his head and saw them. He extended his hand to Blair, then pulled her close. He pointed to the girls, then whispered, "They'll stop if we don't hide. Smile."

"Wait," she whispered. Blair reached for a baby dress and held it up in front of her, then rose on tiptoes to kiss Chuck on the cheek.

They went out for dinner afterwards, and halfway through desert she looked up. "What time is it?"

"Seven," he informed her.

She frowned. "Are we heading back to the hotel right after?"

"I'm not in a hurry," he told her.

"I have to—" He pushed over a small medicine container to her. Her voice faded, "take my vitamins."

His hand closed over hers. "You don't ever have to worry about anything else, Blair. I promise. I'll be here for you." He leaned over, and she accepted his kiss. "Tomorrow we'll go shopping for your new clothes. Your skirts are too tight around your waist now. And then we'll get a few tops that will go with them."

That night, he fell asleep before she did. She turned to her side. The baby was heavy now, even if she was small, and it pressed her back into bed and made her spine hurt. On her side, the weight was off her, and she could stare at Chuck, watch him sleep, press her nose against his chin when she wanted.

She reached for the ring from the bedside table, then slipped his ring on her finger. When it was halfway on, she pulled it off again and set it aside.

He woke her in the morning with kisses on the tight skin of her abdomen. Her fingers sank into his hair and she smiled, enjoying the attention he showered.

"Are you excited?" he asked.

"But I already know it's a girl," she pointed out. "Are you excited?"

He grinned. "If it's a boy, you remember the bet. You're moving with me to a new suite." She nodded. "You haven't told me what you want if you win."

She raised her hands and he helped her sit up. "If it's a girl, move in with me to a house. So the baby won't have to live in a hotel."

The answer seemed to satisfy him more than winning ever would. He wrapped her in his embrace, then whispered, "I'll have my realtor start looking."

After their shopping expedition, Chuck was called to a meeting at the company. He dropped her off, with the dozens of bags and boxes, at the hotel. He opened to door for her, and helped her out of the limo. "I'm sorry about this," he told her.

"It's okay, Chuck. I'll meet you at the hospital?"

He nodded. He kissed her on the lips. "I've called a car to pick you up in an hour. And then I'll see you there."

He turned to enter the car, but she grabbed his arm. He looked up at her, and she said, "I love you, Chuck."

He closed the door, and then placed his hands on her waist. He laid his forehead on hers. "Wear it soon." She nodded.

Two hours later, she stood at the lobby of the hospital, waiting for him. She tried calling him, but his phone kept rolling to voicemail. She looked back behind her, and saw Jack leaning against the wall.

"What did I tell you?" he said softly.

She did not need to strain to hear him. She looked at her watch. Her appointment was on, and she could find out the sex of the baby now. She walked over to the chairs and sat down. She hung her head, and even with her eyes closed she could hear the ambulance sirens as patients were rushed in and out, the wheels of gurneys rolling, the phones in the information counter ringing.

They were all so noisy. She should have waited in her OB's office instead.

"Miss Waldorf."

She looked up and saw the nurse walking over to her with a blood pressure monitor. She found it odd, because they usually took her pressure in her OB's office. She was only waiting for Chuck here.

They strapped the cuff on her arm and started pumping to take her blood pressure. And then her OB was there, and she furrowed her brows in confusion. She looked behind her OB, and saw Lily standing there with her sympathetic eyes.

"Has anyone seen Chuck? He's so late."

Lily walked over to sit with her, and took her hand. In the periphery of her vision, she noticed Jack, in his corner, straighten. She looked down at how Lily gripped her fingers, and thought it was such a strange, alien reaction. "Blair, sweetheart, let's go and see your OB in her office. You have a scheduled ultrasound, don't you?"

"That's why I'm here." She paused. "Where's Chuck?"

"Honey, Chuck was in an accident. They're taking care of him. Right now, we can have your check up so we know how you and the baby are."

"Wait. No. I have to wait for Chuck," she whispered. "He said he'll meet me here."

"Chuck's in surgery, honey. He's not going to be here. I will," Lily said gently.

tbc

* * *

**Chapter 11: Chapter 11**

* * *

**Part 11**

She ran.

Blair ripped off the cuff from her arm and burst into a run. She made her way towards the left corridor, all the way, not knowing why. But it was where her feet told her to go; it was where she needed to go. She heard Lily call out her name, faintly she noted Serena's voice, telling her she'd come.

And then someone caught her, pulled her away from the doors just when it burst open.

"Let me go," she cried out, pleading.

"Hey, hey, easy," came the murmured words. She stiffened in his arms the moment she realized who it was who held her. "You don't want to slip."

And then Lily was there, with her best friend. Serena pulled her away from Jack, wrapped her arms around her, and all she could do was sob into her best friend's blouse. "I want to see him."

"B, they're working on him," were her encouraging words. They sounded hollow, unreal, forced. Almost like Serena knew something other than what they told her, knew it wasn't as fine as they made it sound. "We don't want to get in the way."

She turned to Lily, who had been the first to come. They called her first, of course, not Blair. If anyone could say she could see Chuck, it would be his stepmother. "Please. Please let me see him."

The older woman stepped before her, brushed her fingers against Blair's cheek. "I don't think that's best for you right now."

From behind her, it was Jack who asked, "For the love of God, Lily, why don't you just let her see the boy?"

She hated him, but right then she adored him.

Blair held tightly on to her best friend's hand as they waited until they called Lily, when Chuck was out of surgery, when someone could check on him. And then Lily held on to her shoulders and walked with her to the room.

It had been hours that they waited, and through it she refused food, water. She half expected him to walk out of his room and remind her she was small.

He was beautiful. Asleep like that, he looked so innocent. Blair stepped forward into the room and reached out with trembling fingers as she traced the outline of the white bandage around his head. Like she often did when he was asleep beside her in bed, her fingers hovered, teased briefly over his skin as she followed the contours of his features. And then she stopped over the paper tape that held plastic tubes in place as they ran into his nostrils.

Her heart, her baby's heart, her blood, her baby's blood. They pumped vigorously, violently, inside that she felt so faint. She leaned down, laid her lips over his, and they felt paper dry, almost like he would turn to ash if she pressed deep enough.

One of his doctors entered to check on the monitor that ran lines to his heart. She hated seeing those. Whenever she saw them anywhere, there was almost always a flat line at the end of the story.

"You promised you wouldn't ever leave me," she whispered.

In his dreams, she hoped he heard her. He had broken too many promises. Not this one. Never this.

"When is he going to wake up?" she asked softly.

Her thumb teased his lips. Last night, when she did it, his lips closed around her finger and playfully suckled on the skin. Now his lips were slack, like he did not feel her.

A hand on her back. It was Lily. The doctor turned to her, and at Lily's nod, shared, "There is some swelling in his brain from the accident. We need to observe in the next forty eight hours if the swelling will subside."

She placed a hand on her abdomen as it grew tight, too heavy for her now. With her other hand she gripped Chuck's limp hand. "You mean he might not wake up?" came her faint question.

"If the swelling remains."

She clasped his face in her hands, then leaned close. "Wake up, Chuck. Promise you'll wake up," she demanded. She pressed kisses on his cheeks, over his eyes, along his jaw. "Please wake up."

There was nothing, not even a flicker of his lashes.

"Blair, sweetheart, come along with me and Serena. We'll have your ultrasound. You don't want to forget about the baby."

"I'm not leaving him," she said. Into his ear, she whispered, "Chuck, please wake up. Come with me. I'll show you. I'll show you it's a girl." His face swam before her eyes, almost like she was under water. She remembered her dream, then raised her head. Her body felt so heavy, almost weighted, like any moment she would melt into the floor.

Blair, you look pale," she heard Lily say.

She turned to her, and felt her knees buckle from underneath her. She would have fallen to the floor, but Lily caught her before she fell, and stumbled under her weight. She blinked up at her, and saw nothing but her silhouette moving above her.

The door burst open, and a man stepped inside. When she heard him speak, she recognized him. "It's alright, Blair. I'll take care of you," he said. If she had the strength she would have pushed away, crawled deep beside Chuck in the bed and never wake up until he did. Jack's hands pushed her skirt away, splayed on her inner thigh, in a movement so familiar even in her distress she wanted to cringe. "She's bleeding," he bit out like a curse.

He lifted her in his arms, and try as she might to raise herself up and stand, all she could do was hang from him. Her belly clenched hard, and she felt the hot rush of blood coat her thighs. She was half awake when they took her out of the room, and he laid her out on another bed. And then the sharp bite of the injection as they gave her drugs to prevent the spontaneous abortion.

"Relax," he advised. "I'm here."

When she woke up, she was at home. She was in bed in her tiny suite. She turned to her side on the bed and found the empty space beside her. She reached out her hand and placed it on the fluffed pillow beside hers, found it cold. Suddenly the bed was too big.

There were sounds from the kitchen, and she rose, her muscles screaming as she walked. It was a dream, she thought to herself. It was a dream and she would find Chuck in the kitchen preparing her breakfast. She ran her hands over the swell of her belly where her baby rested. Blair opened the nightstand drawer and retrieved her beautiful ring. She slid it onto her finger.

One morning, he had said, he would look down and see her wearing the ring, and he would know that she was ready.

She blinked away the tears in her eyes when she approached the kitchen.

"Chuck," she said hopefully.

A young woman smiled up at her and laid out grocery bags on the table. Blair's hope faded, and she frowned.

"Don't be scared, Miss Wadorf. Mr Bass made arrangements for me to come by and restock your fridge, make sure you have healthy food available in your kitchen." The girl gestured towards the counter, where she saw small medicine containers labeled Monday AM, Monday PM and so on, covering all the days of the week. "I've filled them with the dosage he indicated."

It wasn't Chuck. It wasn't anyone she should be talking to.

"Have you been doing this every day?"

The girl shook her head. "No, ma'am. It's in his instructions to do it should Mr Bass be out of town for business or is otherwise unavailable. His secretary gave me a heads up that he's unavailable."

Blair turned her back on the girl and returned to her bed. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep. If she slept deep enough, maybe she would see him. Maybe she could meet him somewhere there, in her dreams, and tell him he was sleeping, and she needed him to wake up.

The next day, in the afternoon, the doorbell rang. It rang endlessly, and it woke her. Blair did not rise. If it was Chuck, he would not need to ring the bell. That the bell so noisily rang only meant it was not him, and anyone else she did not want to see. She remained in bed, eyes open, willing the bell to stop ringing.

Finally, there was silence. Death should be so silent.

Serena stepped into her bedroom, and Nate followed closely behind. Last time they were in her suite together, Chuck had promised her a house.

The reminders were hurtful, and she turned her body on the bed so that she did not need to look at them.

"Blair," Nate started, reaching out his hand and touching her hair. Her brown hair had grown hot and greasy, but even then she did not mind. "When did you last take a bath?"

She did not answer him. Instead, she reached for the remote control and flipped on the tv. It was mindless. Chuck had obviously been the last person to watch, because she was tuned to Nickelodeon watching the Backyardigans play. And then she remembered—

Chuck had commented on the little animated characters dancing to the tune of "We're going to Mars" and saying how cute a kid would be shaking ass to the same song the way the blue and pink and purple animals did. "Blair, look at this!" he had called out to her.

She turned to the tv off.

And then, they were pulling her up from the bed. She protested, and then Serena placed her hands on her hips and told her, "You're going to shower."

"Mind your own business," she told them sharply. "Leave me alone."

Nate shook his head patiently. "How many times have you and Chuck pushed me and Serena into shower to sober us up?"

Serena turned on the shower, and Nate stepped under holding on to Blair so that she would not slip. When the water hit her on the face, she turned away so that the water sprayed onto her back. "That's different," she sputtered.

Nate held out his hand and Serena squirted shampoo onto his palm. He worked the shampoo into a lather in her hair. "How is it different, Blair?" he asked, making her talk, keeping her grounded and away from her trance.

"We wanted you alert, so you knew what was happening to you."

"And what?" he prodded gently.

He ran water over her hair to remove the shampoo. She sniffled. "I don't want to remember what's happening."

When they helped her dry off, and she was in clean clothes, Blair crawled back into bed. Neither Nate nor Serena could say anything to draw her back out. She waited for them to leave, and when they stayed, Blair edged closer to Chuck's side of the bed, buried her nose in his pillow, and ignored them.

It could have been hours, or it could have been days. The next thing she knew was that her side of the bed dipped, and she turned her head half-expecting Chuck to be there. Instead, her blurry vision cleared and she saw her mother looking down at her.

"Stand up," Eleanor commanded.

All her life she wanted to please her mother. And now, even if she wanted, she could not do the simple request. She shook her head. "I can't."

Eleanor's lips thinned. "I thought you were all grown up. You chose to leave, and have a baby unmarried, out of my house."

Her voice cracked, and she admitted, "I can't, mom. I can't without Chuck."

Eleanor's shoulders sagged. Her hand rested on Blair's arm. "We take care of ourselves, Blair," she shared with her daughter. "I wanted you married to him so that if he leaves, you're going to be okay." Eleanor ran her hand up and down Blair's arm. "Even if he leaves you for someone else, or if it happens like this." Her eyes fell on Blair's belly. "But I can't stay away. Not during this. It's okay, Blair."

"No it's not, mom. It's not okay." Eleanor sighed, then took Blair up in her arms. Blair sat up and rested against her mother. "I won't ever be able to do this without him."

"You're a Waldorf!" Eleanor insisted.

Blair met her mother's eyes somberly. "That doesn't mean anything to me," she told her mother. "What I know, mom, is I'm not going to last like this."

Eleanor's eyes flooded, and for the first time since Blair remembered, her mother looked scared. "What does that mean?"

Blair placed her cheek against her mother's shoulder.

Sometimes, she dreamed. In her dreams, she was drowning. And above her, he floated, looking down at her with sightless eyes. She kicked up against the current, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He was gone, so long gone before she was.

In the water, they jumped in. Jack, then Lily, then Nate, then Serena. Her mother reached for her, and briefly Blair raised her hand to brush her fingers with Eleanor's. Eleanor's hand tightened around her wrist, and started to pull her up.

In her dreams, she watched him float aimlessly, farther and farther from her. In her dreams, Blair reached for her mother's hand, pried her grasp from her wrist.

And then, she allowed herself to sink.

tbc

* * *

**Chapter 12: Chapter 12**

* * *

**Part 12**

The way he loved her terrified her.

She met his eyes from across the street, when she spotted him waiting inside the towncar watching her. His intent eyes were trained on her. Even from afar his gaze was molten. When he looked at her, it was almost like she burned.

He loved her.

And it terrified her.

She wrapped her coat tightly around herself, tied the belt loosely around her belly, and walked towards the hotel. She stopped at the door, turned her head, and saw him sitting still, his face turned to her, watching. Waiting, it seemed. Waiting for something. And his loving her and waiting scared her.

She felt his eyes boring a hole in the back of her skull. Even as she entered the building she felt his eyes follow her. She nodded at the doorman and strode towards the suite. Inevitably she was inside the bedroom, sitting alone on the bed, her face turned to his side. Her eyes drifted close and she took in a long, deep breath.

She smelled him. His scent was fainter than yesterday. She buried her nose in the sheets. Blair rose to her feet and walked to the closet, pushed her clothes to the side and ran her fingers along the beige coat that hung as their border. She reached to pull it down, but could not reach the hanger. She went over to the kitchen and returned with a stool. Grasping the closet door, she pulled herself up to teeter on the stool. Elevated, she reached for his coat and pressed it up to her nose.

Better.

She climbed down and laid out his trenchcoat on his side of the bed. She picked up a checkered scarf from his pile and wrapped it around her neck.

And then, like that, she breathed a sigh and decided it was the best way to sleep.

It was morning when she woke up, morning when she felt the gentle rocking of her body. She opened her eyes and saw her mother smiling down at her.

"Come home with me, Blair," Eleanor invited, running her fingers through the material of Chuck's scarf around her neck. "I had Dorota prepare your favorite breakfast."

Her brows furrowed, and her gaze shifted to Lily standing by the doorway with a sad smile on her face. And then she realized. It was day three, and here they were. She moistened her lips. "I can't come home, mom. Chuck's waking up today," she told Eleanor.

"Sweetheart—"

She turned her gaze to Lily. "Forty eight hours, right?" Lily nodded. "That's what they said." Blair said to her mother, "Imagine the hassle of moving back home only to move again when we get our own place."

Eleanor threw an imploring look at Lily, who now walked into the room and sat down on the bed with them. "Blair, I was just there at the hospital."

Blair glanced at the wall clock. "You didn't wait for me." She pushed her hair behind her ears. Blair looked down at her hand. Her ring. This was the morning he would see it. It sparkled there, adorning her finger. Very soon she would need to take it off. Her fingers were growing fat. He should be happy for it. He wanted her big and heavy. "Can I take the car?"

And then her ring was covered by Lily's hand around hers. "The swelling's been gone since yesterday," Lily informed her.

She frowned. "Then why isn't he awake?"

"The doctors don't know," Lily told her.

"They said forty eight hours."

"Blair," her mom said, her voice firm, much like the strong, elegant woman who faced the humiliation of being abandoned by a gay husband, so like the mother who sought to protect her daughter from the explosion caused by the sex scandal that initially caused her fall in Constance.

When her mother used that tone, it was because Eleanor needed Blair to be strong.

Blair turned away, and climbed out of the bed from Chuck's side. She glanced at her mother, and saw the way the older woman's lips tightened as she noticed the crumpled beige trenchcoat. Blair picked up the garment and folded it, then placed it on the pillow.

"I'm not coming home, mom," she informed Eleanor. "It just doesn't make sense."

As if everything needed to make sense.

Blair turned to Lily, and repeated her earlier unanswered question. "Can I take the car? I want to visit Chuck."

"Blair," Lily breathed, "you know everything ours is yours. But I don't think it's a good idea."

No one, not Lily, not her mother, would ever understand. Neither of them loved the same way she did. Neither of them understood.

Neither of them had ever experienced being consumed alive, straining to breathe, twisting in pain—all because she loved.

Only two other people in the world knew what it was like. One of them was asleep, and one of them, she was sure, waited still, under the bright morning sun.

Jack Bass hated her. In his eyes she saw. Ha hated her so much he loved her; loved her so much he wished she died.

Blair turned her back to the two women and walked over to her laptop. It was open still, on the website that posted pictures of her and of him. It was sick, to be watched by so many people. Yet right then all she could do was smile at the photographs they had displayed of them. He was happy, almost content, holding her in front of him with a tiny yellow jumpsuit in his hand.

They wanted to come, and she refused. She made her way to the car and felt the same watchful eyes on her. She closed the car door even before she entered, and then she turned to the street and looked from side to side, ready to cross. Before she could, he was striding towards her.

"Couldn't you just call me over?" he demanded. He loomed over her, leaning close, and she felt crowded. Always, he took up space. Always, he crowded her like he needed to fill every vacuum in her life. When he looked at her, she recognized all that he felt. Jack never hid anything, not even when it was best to hide. "You know I'll come. I'll always come."

She held her hand out to ward him off. Her palm rested on his chest, and he dropped his chin. He grasped her wrist with his hand and brought her hand up to his lips. She snatched her hand away, but he gripped tightly.

"Let me take you," he pleaded.

He knew where she was going. Blair searched his face, and it was obvious that he knew. What motivation would a man have to offer, when it was so clear? Still, she said, "I'm going to visit him."

"I know," Jack said quietly.

"I want to see him because I miss him." Jack nodded. "Because I love him." So much, she thought. So much she was wilting every breath she took. Someday she would be dried up and rotten, all because she was too long away from him.

"You said that."

Blair pulled her hand away, and then finally, he released her. She rubbed at her wrist. "Why are you still here?" she demanded.

He breathed, and she watched the rise and fall of his chest. He breathed, and it fascinated her. The only way Chuck breathed now, was with tubes running through him. And yet here Jack was, breathing without help, living and awake.

She wished it were Chuck standing in front of her instead.

Jack in his place.

And she did not feel bad, not one bit, for the awful awful wish.

She turned her back on him, and slammed into the car. She asked the driver to take her to the hospital. When she arrived, she made her way to his room. Blair walked towards the bed and smiled down at his sleeping face. Like the last time she was there, she laid her lips on his.

_Wake up._

He didn't stir. She did not expect him too. The door opened and she turned and saw his doctor step inside. The woman walked over to him and flashed her tiny flashlight into his eyes. Blinding him. He should be irritated enough to wake up.

The doctor smiled at her, and asked, "How are you, Blair?"

She licked her lips. "I'm getting impatient. You said he'd be awake by now."

The doctor walked over to her, and her lips curved. It was stupid for her to smile, Blair thought. When the doctor moved nearer, and looked down at her abdomen, Blair saw it. She had never been this attuned to a stranger. It was in the way the woman held her breath, the way her lashes fluttered to shield her eyes.

"May I?" the doctor asked, placing her stethoscope in her ears and gesturing to her belly.

"Go ahead," she whispered. Blair felt the cold metal through her blouse. The cold metal moved across her belly, and the doctor nodded. "How is she?"

"Sounds fine," the doctor informed her. "Have you had your ultrasound? Is it a girl?"

Blair shook her head. "I'm not finding out for sure until Chuck can find out with me."

"You shouldn't wait," the doctor advised. "You want to know that the baby's healthy."

Her heart was pounding. It was everything the doctor did not say. It was everything in her eyes. Blair's voice sharpened. "You don't think he's going to wake up."

And then the doctor reached for her arm and squeezed. Blair rested her hand on her abdomen. The woman glanced at her hand. "That's a beautiful ring." Blair looked down at the engagement ring, felt so silly wearing it now, like it would change anything. "The swelling's gone. There's no reason for him not to wake up."

"And he's not waking up," she said.

The doctor nodded. "The human brain is complicated. I honestly can't tell you if he will or he won't."

Blair swallowed. She turned to Chuck. In the periphery of her vision she saw the doctor leave the room. She looked around the room, his hospital suite. Even sick he got the best. Even dying, he could afford the best. His bed looked big, comfortable. More comfortable now than their expensive hotel room bed with him there. She crawled in beside him and pressed up to his side. She closed her eyes.

"Wake me up when you're up," she whispered.

All she wanted to do, the moment he fell asleep, was sleep. All she had energy to do was close her eyes. All she needed to do was disappear into him.

If she could melt into him she would.

Jack was right. Even long long ago, when it was Chuck who was sinking and she was the only one holding him out of the water, Jack saw her for what she was. He had told her and she did not listen. He recognized her for what she was when she had fooled herself into thinking she was better.

"Look at you. You're a fucking disaster."

"I am," she admitted, keeping her eyes closed, her cheek pressed against Chuck's hospital gown.

He sounded mean, like he did not understand what she felt. Only, she knew, he was the only one who understood the most. "I hate seeing you like this."

"No one's forcing you to watch," she answered. She wanted to tell him to leave them alone, so let her sink into oblivion beside Chuck. The closer she was, she more probably it was that she would surface into the dream he was in.

His hand rested on her back. She squirmed away from him, pressing closer to Chuck. "Let me take care of you." She shut her eyes tightly closed. "I swear you won't regret it."

"Quiet," she shushed him. She let herself drift off. And then she found herself ripped from the warmth of Chuck's side, and Jack had pulled her up to sit.

He glared at her, the scowl on his face showing her how angry he was. "What the fuck are you doing?" She turned her face away. He grasped her face and made her look at him. "You don't care anymore, is that it?"

Defeated, her lashes lowered. She tried to pull her face away from his grip. Weakly, she swatted at his hand, but he held tight.

"I'm in love with you."

He had said it so many times, even back when he thought it was all that mattered. Back when Chuck could not say it, back when it was all she wanted.

"If he's gone, you still stay."

She felt the hot rush of tears in her eyes. "If he's gone—"

"I'll take care of you," he assured her. The words were empty, and she felt her tears spillover uncontrolled. "I told you. I'm here. I don't care. I'm so fucking in love with you we'll name your baby after him and I'll love it."

He was back. And he was here. And he loved her. And he wasn't ever going to leave.

"If he dies, I'll be here."

"I hate you," she sobbed.

He pulled her to him, and his lips moved hungrily over her slack ones. Blair was frozen, and she felt him over her, eating her, consuming her, finishing her, roving over her mouth and over her face. His tongue was in her mouth, tracing her tears, running through the tracks. He disgusted her, and she only had enough energy to remain still.

He pulled her off the bed, and pressed against her, pushing her ass back against the bed.

And then she felt it. It was hot. When his first tear fell on her cheek, she thought, were tears really that hot?

She remained passive under the onslaught of his mouth and his tongue, and he kissed her, disgusting in its fervor, unsettling when it grew tender.

Blair closed her eyes. His lips were hot and wet as they pressed into her ear, her neck.

Finally, he looked down at her. "Open your eyes." She shook her eyes. "Open them!" And she did. When she saw his tear-streaked eyes, she felt nothing. "I'll take care of you better than he ever could."

Blair sighed. He was waiting for her to speak. Instead, she returned to Chuck and sat, laid her head on his chest.

"You're trying to hurt me, like the bitch you've always been," he snarled. With her back to him, she closed her eyes and drowned out his voice listening to Chuck's heart. "He'll never love you like I do. He's always going to choose everything else before you."

One. Two. Three.

Twenty eight.

Forty seven.

His heartbeart was the only music she wanted to hear.

"You think he's changed? When I wanted to prove to you that he would choose his father's company over you, he did. I make a simple call for his secretary to call him for a status update from Tokyo. And then he comes running to work. Didn't matter that he had a commitment to you."

Her hand fisted on Chuck's abdomen. She lifted her head, and she turned to look coldly at Jack. "You were the one who called him," she whispered.

"I was there for you when he wasn't. If you needed me, I would have walked into that appointment with you and held your hand," he said.

"He was there because of you," she said softly.

He repeated, "I love you." As if it made all the difference. "You understand what that means."

They would all burn for their obsessions. They would burn and sink and destroy one another, and none of them would survive.

It was merely a matter of who went first.

She was a disaster, like he said, and she would destroy him. She loved a boy and was about to lose the man he had become.

And now, she did not want to sleep, did not want to rest, did not want to vanish. Inside her, a small flame burst. Anger lit fuel in her veins.

Jack knew her more than Lily or Eleanor ever would. And she understood him the way no one else did. She closed her eyes and let the tears run down her cheeks. He stepped towards her and picked up her hands, pressed kisses to them.

"I hate it when you cry," he said.

She met his gaze, her eyes unwavering. "You love it," she challenged. "You want me to cry."

His nostrils flared. He shook his head. "Never."

"I hate you so much. And I can't look at you." He drew his hands back as if he was burned. "I can't live like this."

He shook his head. "I'll do anything for you. You know that."

She leaned down and hovered her lips over his. He rose up and she shifted away. She placed her cold hand on his cheek. "As long as I know you're out there, I'll never forgive you. And that's going to kill me every day."

"I'm sorry," he gritted out.

"I know," she whispered. "And you know what I need." And then she lay down on the bed and pressed against Chuck and closed her eyes.

"Blair—" She did not respond.

She heard the door shut.

That night, she called her mother to join her for dinner at Lily's house. Eleanor looked pleasantly surprised when she arrived and took in her daughter dressed up and ready. Blair accepted her mother's kiss.

Serena opened the door, and grabbed her hands as she pulled her into the house. During dinner, the van der Woodsen's maid entered the dining room and handed Lily the phone. Blair watched silently as Lily gasped and hung up the phone.

"Excuse me," Lily apologized to the dinner party, "I have to go see to an emergency."

"What is it, mom?" Serena said worriedly. Is it Chuck?

If it was, she would have felt it. Blair reached for her glass of water and tipped it to her lips. She felt her mother's eyes on her.

"No. It's Jack," Lily said. "They found him in the skyline hotel bar bathroom. They think he overdosed."

Classic, she thought. Like choosing the bathroom from New Year's Eve would be more meaningful. Sacred.

"Is he dead?" she asked, placing down her glass back on the table.

Eleanor's lips thinned. Serena looked at her with wide eyes.

"He's alive," Lily responded. "Barely. I need to go. I think I'm the closest relation he has."

Pity that, Blair thought. His closest relation and they weren't even connected by blood. His only relative was lying in a hospital bed, all because of him.

"Of course," Eleanor murmured.

Blair blinked, then reached for a slice of tuna. "Say hello for me."

tbc

* * *

**Chapter 13: Chapter 13**

* * *

 

**Part 13**

This was where the nightmares began.

For Blair, it was the most fitting place to put an end to them. She was heavy now, so out of place now to be in the skyline hotel bar. But he had called her, and for once, she said yes. There was no other choice but to agree. This time, it would all end.

Tonight, one of them would lose. It was the only way the other one could continue.

She wore a short black dress that stretched tight across her abdomen. She walked towards the bar, and he turned around in his seat like he felt her approach. He raised his scotch glass to her, in greeting, then tipped the contents into his mouth.

His face was gray, his eyes sunken, and she hoped the alcohol scorched his insides. Two weeks and he was out of the hospital, carousing about like nothing happened when he should have died.

She had been, for the past weeks, such a permanent part of Chuck's room, that when he was transferred out of intensive care and into his long term care suite, no one really bothered her anymore. She had been with Chuck, holding his hand, reading to him from Gossip Girl's website because no matter how much he had abhorred it, she knew he secretly loved it too. When Lily left her alone in the room, Blair pulled Chuck's hand down, careful of the drip stuck to the vein in the back of his hand, to her tummy.

Her baby was moving around, dancing she thought, because her daughter didn't kick. And as long as he was not going to find out with her, she was not going to find out if it was a boy or a girl. Until then, in her mind, she was having a girl. And then Chuck could worry himself with how he was going to keep boys like him away from her.

"Feel that?" she had whispered.

In her wishful mind, his lashes fluttered like he wanted to open his eyes. She said it quietly to his nurse, Chuck's doctor came and read the record from his machine. And then, very gently, informed her there had been no different brain activity detected.

"Was I imagining it?" she demanded.

She could almost fell his hand tighten on her, and they saw nothing.

"You need to step outside, Blair. Do something different."

When Jack called her, she returned home and changed into a short dress that even eight months pregnant, still made her appear desirable. When she faced Jack Bass, she would be desirable. He would love her, just like he always had.

Because Chuck was asleep, would be asleep for a long time it seemed.

He stood up when she neared, and he handed her a glass. She looked down at it with suspicion, and he responded with a, "It's soda. Ask the bartender." When she refused to accept it, he said, "I didn't put anything in it."

Reluctantly, she took the glass. He held her by her elbow as he assisted her up the stool. And then, when she was seated, he leaned forward and rested his forehead below the hollow of her throat. She held her breath. She could feel his harsh breaths against her breasts. "What are you doing?" she asked sharply.

"I missed you," he answered. He raised his eyes, and met hers. "I thought you'd never come. But you did."

"Get off me," she whispered.

To her surprise, he complied. He raised his head and she breathed more easily. He leaned closer and he said, "Kiss me."

Her lips thinned. She frowned and turned her gaze on him. "Why?"

His brows furrowed in confusion. "You forgive me. You came."

"You think you deserve a reward for that, Jack?" she demanded, thinking back to the two weeks he spent recovering and under observation for his overdose.

"I tried—" he told her. Jack shook his head. "I did what I thought you wanted to do. I just want you to be happy." He released a breath. "I'm waiting to make you happy."

"You couldn't even do it right. You're making my life a living hell," she said. She pushed a soda back to him, then got off the stool. Every moment away from the hospital was a second without Chuck. This had to be worth it. "Show me you love me," she said.

"Tell me what to do."

"You already know."

She turned to walk away, and he grabbed her arm. "Are you serious?" he said harshly.

_Fucking bitch._

Blair shrugged off his grip and continued towards the exit. She heard him stalking towards her. He turned her to face him, and she glared up at him and saw his glittering, watery eyes. He knew. And if it were another time she would have pitied him, backed down, pulled him to her for a comforting embrace. Instead, she took his hand firmly off her arm.

"I can't breathe anymore," she told him, carefully, calculatedly. "Help me breathe, Jack. If you love me, you'll do it."

_Do it._

That night, she stayed by Chuck's bedside as she waited. Blair surfed the internet and looked up when Serena arrived. She nodded, no need for greeting anymore. They had done this too often. Her best friend asked, "Any change?"

The question was trite now, and the answer expected.

"How about you?" Serena asked.

And she found herself sliding back into the response she used to give Chuck when she did not trust him with herself. "The baby's fine."

And Serena nodded, not noticing. Only Chuck would notice that; only Chuck would call her on it.

She found out two hours later. It was her mother who told her. Pulling her outside the room, Eleanor stood in the hospital corridor as she carefully selected the words. She had expected the same, only with no knowledge of the where, the when, the how. But even as the words left Eleanor's mouth, each syllable chilled her.

"I asked Lily to let me tell you, because I believe you were close."

The sound of her voice was foreign to her. She asked, "Tell me what, mom?"

"Jack Bass drove his car into the Brooklyn bridge railing. Nobody knows why he was even there." Eleanor nodded towards Chuck's room, where Lily seemed to be breaking the news to Serena. Blair met Serena's eyes from the window. "Nobody even knew how devastated he must have been about what happened to his nephew. But it's apparent now—the overdose and now this. He must really have been bothered about Chuck."

"Mom, I need to be alone. Can you take them with you?"

"Sweetheart, they found pictures of you and Chuck in the car. You must have been close. You shouldn't be alone."

But Eleanor knew her well now, knew her daughter better than ever before ever since Chuck's accident. Within a half hour, she found herself walking into Chuck's hospital suite alone, with Lily, Serena and her mother gone. She closed the door behind her, hearing her heart thumping wildly in her ears. The door slammed shut, and she leaned her head back, sucked in her breath like gasping for air after almost drowning.

She grabbed the door behind her and felt herself slammed from all angles. Her breathing shuddered, and she started trembling. She slid down the door until she was seated on the floor. And then she heard the echo of sobbing. She raised her fingers to her cheeks and found them wet, realized it was her.

And her sobs were like those of an animal, raw, chilling. Blair found herself doubled over on the floor and she cried long and loud for something indefinable. Something was pulled from her gut, and her breathing was easier. She was limp, like someone had pulled her out of a current that dragged her under.

Hours.

She was sure that was how long she cried for. Then, after the longest, rawest period of her life, she swallowed and felt her throat hurt. Blair pulled herself up off the floor and stood catching her breath. Her sore eyes turned to the bed. She dragged herself towards Chuck, then placed a slack kiss on his lips. She sniffled and climbed onto the large suite bed with him, then for the first time turned her back on him and stared out the window.

She fell asleep, and woke in the middle of the night when his nurse checked on him. The young woman probably noticed her state, with the dry tear tracks on her cheeks, because she patted Blair's arm and assured her, "He's doing much better, Ms Waldorf."

And for the first time her heart didn't skip a beat.

Maybe it was all he needed, she thought sardonically, for her to kill Jack. She shook her head, telling herself not to expect anything. Blair closed her eyes and slept fitfully.

Some time in the night, at dawn, almost morning, she could not tell. But she felt the bed move, heard breathing other than her own. His sleeping breath had always been steady, even, unaided now. But when the bed moved, her eyes shot open. She heard his throat clear, and felt her own jam.

One limp, heavy arm lay across her body. At that, tears filled her eyes. She bit her lip to catch her cry, but she was sobbing now, quietly. Weakly, he squeezed her arm.

"Oh my God," she whispered, fervent, a prayer now. She felt him squeeze again, just a little stronger. "Oh God."

She should move, get off the bed, run for the doctor. She was frozen.

The arm wrapped around her waist, and with a little strength, pulled her body closer, pressed up against his.

"Oh God," she repeated.

Blair closed her eyes when his lips pressed against the back of her head.

Slowly, she turned around in his arms and then raised her lashes. She met his warm gaze. "Chuck," she whispered. Blair placed her hand on his cheek, then stretched, pressed as much as her belly would allow, and kissed him on the lips.

Foul breath and all from his long sleep.

"Good morning," he greeted.

And she laughed softly, through her tears, because he would greet her that every morning in bed from today until the day she died. "Good morning," she greeted back. The sliver of light from outside the window indicated the rising sun, and the rays reflected in the glimmer of his eye.

His open eyes.

He turned his face to place a kiss on the palm of the hand that cupped his cheek. He breathed the scent of her skin, and then stopped the moment his lips came across the metal on her finger. His hand covered hers, and he pulled to see the ring on her finger.

"How does tomorrow sound?" he asked.

And she knew what he meant, because asleep or not, he had been waiting too long for this answer. She replied, "No time to fit a tux, or plan a grand one. I want a big one. I want one fit for a princess."

"I'll give you one for a queen," he promised her.

That promise she would make him keep.

"How are my girls?" he asked.

She could tell him the baby was healthy, or that she had not yet found out if they were having a boy or a girl. She could assure him the baby was growing well, even when she was listless and exhausted from almost losing him.

Instead, he told her about Blair.

"I've been dying," she told him, "without you."

Honest. A confession. The truth.

Selfish.

But she could only be selfish and not hate herself with Chuck.

Instead of words to encourage her, that she could do well without him, Chuck informed her, "I know. I'd die." Without her. It was an agreement.

Not one of them could survive without the other. It was how they would destroy each other.

"I think I killed Jack," she began, because he would learn it. Sooner or later, he would. She reached for the button to call his nurse. Her eyes filled with tears. And then she pressed against him, and confessed softly, "I _know_ I killed Jack."

His arm tightened around her. "He deserved it," he told her, knowing no other detail, just certain that he did.

_Show me you love me. You know how._

When nurse arrived and saw Chuck awake, she called for the doctor. Soon, Chuck was surrounded by a medical team. Blair wandered away from the bed and towards the door. She looked out the corridor, and imagined Jack standing outside, watching her.

She splayed her hands on the wall, and cried out against the ripping pain in her belly.

"Miss Waldorf—"

Blair felt the tight clenching of her abdomen, and then felt the warm rush of water drenching her thighs.

"Blair," Chuck called her name. "Blair, what is it?"

She looked down at her soaked shoes and idly thought he would need to buy her a new pair because her nice flats were ruined now. She did not lift her short black dress to see the mess she had created. She cried again at the contraction, and grabbed her abdomen with one hand.

The nurse ran to get help, and Blair watched in horror as a red trail of blood started trailing down the inside of her thigh. Chuck's doctor left him, then grasped her arms, helping her walk to a chair. Chuck pushed at one the nurses surrounding him to let him off the bed, but they pushed him firmly down the bed.

She screamed, and even her own blood curdled. Blair doubled over and the doctor, with her hands firmly on Blair's arms, caught her against her body.

"Don't be afraid, Blair. It will be alright. Your baby just thinks it's time."

Two more from the medical team surrounding Chuck approached her, and walked over to help her towards the gurney. She felt the hot rush of liquid down her thighs, felt her knees buckle. The male nurse caught her, and lifted her off the floor and towards the gurney. She heard their crisp, choice words, noted they had left Chuck with one person holding him down and knew this was far from normal.

Her eyes were rolling back into her head, and she was dizzy, so dizzy that even with her eyes closed she was nauseated. They started rolling her away, and still she kept her eyes open as long as she could. She met his eyes, pleaded with him soundlessly, and assured herself he knew what for.

"Wait," he bit out.

She waited, like everyone else, for a beat. For two.

"Her."

His doctor paused, then asked, "I'm sorry. What was that, Mr Bass?"

And right then, she knew. And it was not what she wanted, but knew he would say it nonetheless. He recognized what was happening, and he would control it even from where he was, defenseless and weak. He would do it.

"I choose her. If it happens, don't come back to me and ask me. You have the answer. I choose Blair."

The doctor nodded to the team with her, and they wheeled her away. Her vision was gone then, but her hearing was so sharp, so acute, she hurt with the words, because he loved the baby even before she loved it.

"We're going to hope it doesn't come to that," the woman said gently to her patient. She had taken care of Chuck too long to have expected what an awake version of the young man would be like.

"You have my answer," Blair heard him say faintly. "Don't you come back and ask."

Because it would be hard, she knew, for him to say it again. The baby was too young, too little. It needed a few more weeks inside her, and she wished she could hold it in.

She was going to expire soon. Blair knew it, and once she was out they would go to her mother or to Chuck. The foot of the gurney slammed through the doors and she knew it would be c-section. Good. She had nothing left, not to push, not to stay awake. The pain ripped through her and tore tears from her eyes.

And then it was her OB standing with her. She grabbed the woman's hand, before she could do anything. "Is it a girl?" she whispered. She never wanted to find out without Chuck, but if this was the only time she found out, then she would.

Her doctor smiled. Even with her lips hidden by her mask, her eyes crinkled and Blair could tell. "Yes. You're going to have a girl, Blair."

A house.

Blair nodded, and she felt a tear slip down her left eye and roll down her temple, into her hair. "Tell him he owes me a house."

"Was there a bet?" her doctor said cheerfully, lulling her, keeping her calm. Blair heard the noises from the anesthesiologist as he prepared his equipment. "Only a Bass and a Waldorf would have a house at stake."

The anesthesiologist raised the mask that would make her sleep. Blair licked her lips, then grabbed her doctor's hand. "If anything happens, go to him, tell him he'll have a daughter, then ask."

"Nothing will happen, Blair."

She knew better, knew something always came in exchange of another. She killed Jack. Just like she held a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. She killed Jack. Chuck was back. Something had to give.

_I'm waiting to make you happy._

She saw the doctor's gaze flicker to the screen, then to the blood on the bed. Blair breathed in the fume and felt the smoke curling inside her brain. She turned her head and noted the interns pushing bags of blood into the operating room. Her doctor leaned down and said into her ear, for her comfort, "But I'll ask." Blair sighed and slipped into—

Water.

_I'll take care of you better than he ever would._

She floated inside water. She drifted deeper.

Almost.

Like.

Flying.

tbc

* * *

**Chapter 14: Chapter 14**

* * *

**Part 14**

Even at three months old, even when most of her day was spent sleeping in her luxurious cushioned bed, Natasha Cornelia Bass was a spectacular little princess that had her father wrapped around her little finger. When she fussed, Chuck Bass reached for her and picked her up, let her rest against his chest. Chuck took pleasure in the knowledge that more than anyone else in the world, his daughter calmed with him. It was perhaps the role he played in saving her life so very early on, when her mother was in the throes of misery and made the mistake of thinking she could terminate the pregnancy, and he had walked Blair out of that clinic and never willingly left her side afterwards.

Today was no exception. The moment that Natasha Bass felt the flurry of activity, and heard the panic in Nate's voice, she had let out a wail so loud that Chuck shrugged off his Armani tux. Dressed in his shirt, his light blue vest and tie, Chuck reached to remove his onyx cufflinks and dropped them into Nate's palm.

"It's alright, Tasha," he soothed, taking his daughter from her nanny's arms and rocking the baby against him. He noticed Nate wince at the sight, and looked down to see the round darkened spot on his shirt where the baby seemed to have spit up some milk. "That's fine," he said, waiting for the girl to calm down. "Daddy's got an extra shirt in the closet."

At that, Natasha's nanny moved to pick the alternate shirt.

"What do you need us to do?"

Chuck shook his head. "I'll go."

Because really, what could any one of them do? He asked for Natasha's carrier, and for the limo to be brought around. Taking no one but his daughter, who would not be left, not ever, Chuck made his way to her. Before he even stepped out, he made sure to wrap the baby around layers of blankets, swaddled Natasha comfortably.

He crushed the grass under his feet with the shiny, black leather shoes. His feet ate space quickly, familiar with the territory after having been there more times than he cared since his daughter's birth. He glanced down at the princess in his arms, and delighted at the short curling brown hair that framed her face.

She was going to look like Blair, would undoubtedly have the angelic face that had driven him insane when he was younger.

"We're going to see mom, Tasha," he informed his daughter.

The Bass mausoleum was an imposing building not far from them. If he had a choice, he would rather not see the place for the next seventy years. Yet here he was, because for Blair, he would do anything.

Even jump into the depths of hell himself.

In that, he supposed, he and Jack were alike. He sent pity to his uncle—to whichever circle of hell he now resided.

When he entered the mausoleum, he was eternally grateful for the shelter. He spotted her immediately, just where he had suspected she would be. She stood in front of the newest addition to the mausoleum, a simple plaque that held the name "John Bass," and recounted the dates of his birth and his death. He paused for a moment, and his presence through a large, looming shadow into the room, announcing his arrival. She looked over to him, dry-eyed. Even with the strong, somber gaze, standing in the mausoleum only in her dressing gown, Blair looked ready to fade.

He released his breath when she started walking towards them. He cleared his throat. Her makeup was done; her hair had already been styled, and her curls framed her face the way Natasha's did. It occurred to him that someday he would look at his little girl in just the same occasion.

"Everyone's looking for you," he informed Blair, his voice soft. "When you vanished from your dressing room, they all panicked. They woke up Tasha."

Blair gave him a small smile, then leaned down to place a kiss on her daughter's eyebrow. "I'm sorry they interrupted your sleep, baby." She turned her gaze to Chuck. "She's not cranky at all."

He could not keep the pride from his voice when he said, "I calmed her down."

"You're always good at that."

Calming Tasha. Comforting Blair.

She had said it to him so many times he had accepted it as truth—they would be nothing but a mess without him. He thanked heaven for that every day, and sometimes, in the dark of the night, the same thing worried him. Life was too unpredictable; his family was far too vulnerable.

Someday soon he would broach the topic, and determine how best to prepare them. When it was the two of them, disaster was their blood and it was easy to decide to fade away without the other. Now, with the princess, the same was no longer an option.

It would be their most difficult mission now, to figure out how to stay.

"Nate thought you got cold feet and ran away."

It was ridiculous. She reached out to brush her baby's cheek with her thumb. The girl blinked up at her but remained comfortably ensconced in Chuck's arms. The first few months and a mother's bond did not seem to faze the baby, because the moment Chuck first held Tasha when they took her from the incubator, the little girl had been her daddy's baby more than Blair's.

"If I did," Blair responded matter-of-factly, "I would have taken Tasha."

He held onto the baby with one arm, and wrapped the other around Blair's shoulders. He should have brought his coat with him, because in the dressing robe he was certain that Blair was cold. He leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek.

"I'm sorry if I worried you," she said quietly later.

He nodded. The moment they told her she was gone, he had known where she would be. Not for one single second did he think she had run away from the wedding. Instead, he worried about what to say to assure her, to remove the guilt that had woken her far too many times for the last three months.

"Tasha's so beautiful," Blair whispered, and it was something with which he could not agree more. "And you're perfect." Last year, he would have found the concept ridiculous. Today, hearing it from her, he was proud. Throughout her pregnancy, he had tried. At least, in her eyes, he was successful. "I looked in the mirror and I thought I looked spectacular in my wedding gown."

He had spared no expense, and the designer freely wove silk damask, charmeuse and satin, then embellished with pounds of pearls and crystals. When she saw the draft drawing, she had been ecstatic. When the designer showed them the initial version of the dress, Blair had cried.

"I promised you a wedding for a queen," he said gently into her ear.

She told him later the sobs were postpartum depression, and he had nodded and accepted the fervent kisses she pressed into his mouth.

"I thought to myself how everything is falling into place," she confessed. "And I remembered Jack." Blair met Chuck's eyes, and Chuck could see nothing in her eyes to make him afraid. "How can I, in good conscience, take all of these and not be guilty that he's dead?"

Chuck offered the baby to Blair, and silently willed Tasha to cooperate. Blair accepted the baby in her arms and breathed in the powder scent on the baby's skin. "How does it feel?"

"Like everything I don't deserve."

He tilted her chin so that she would look at him. "Jack made a decision. It was an informed one. He knew about us; he'd been told over and over." Chuck kissed her forehead. "He knew what was at stake."

"I pushed him to it."

"He could have just as easily gone back to Australia, Blair. He chose this." He sighed. "Jack's gone." If he was the Chuck Bass from the year before, he would have probably defaced his uncle's marker right then for being the ghost he was, throwing his own wedding day out of schedule because of what he had done. "He lost."

They survived.

"Don't let him ruin today."

On the way back to the church, Tasha slept on her mother's chest, her ear pressed to her left breast as Blair's heartbeat lulled her with its steady rhythm. Chuck watched as Blair rubbed circled on the baby's back. Blair's eyes rose to his, and Chuck nodded in encouragement. Blair flashed him a smile, because it was the first time that Tasha had been as comfortable with Blair as she was with Chuck.

Chuck deposited her at her dressing room. When he reached for Natasha, Blair had been almost reluctant to surrender the girl.

"We were just bonding," she complained.

"You'll get her back right after the ceremony," he assured her. "I think she'll be much calmer with you from now on." Chuck took her lips for a brief kiss. "You're calmer now."

She nodded. "I love you."

The door opened, and the ladies in the dressing room greeted Blair with frantic expressions. Chuck spied a glimpse of the wedding dress on the bed. He turned and walked with Natasha back to his dressing room.

The nanny shot up from her seat when Chuck entered with her charge. She reached for the baby, and Chuck handed the sleeping child over. When she turned to leave, Chuck stopped her.

"Where are you taking her?"

The nanny frowned. "Mrs Rose wanted me to keep the baby in Miss Blair's room."

Chuck waved the argument away. "There's a hurricane there. She'll just wake up crying with all the activity there."

When Chuck Bass stood in front of the assembly, the church was an impressively decked architectural marvel. He had spent the better part of Blair's recovery working with her on the details she wanted to turn their wedding into an event straight out of her childhood dreams. Most of the time he spent with Serena was turned into research and interviews, to determine what the best friend knew of Blair's dream wedding. In between his hours in the company, his hours looking up the best business degrees from Ivy Leagues online, and watching Natasha sleep, Chuck Bass had placed orders for the elegant floral arrangements lining the aisle. He watched little girls litter the red carpet with white and pale pink petals. The idea had come from the unlikeliest source, but he had taken it anyway. Nate had walked into his office while he was coordinating the flowers he wanted with the planner.

"Man, am I glad it's you!" Nate had exclaimed. "You have the patience for this stuff. The first time she mentioned to me about walking on white and pink rose petals I had to smoke."

He owed Nathaniel one. The aisle looked spectacular. She was going to love that touch, because she did not tell him about that one detail.

The music wafted, a traditional but more chilling rendition of the wedding march. Inside the sleeves of his Armani tux, Chuck swore the hair on his arms stood.

The moment that the doors opened and he saw Blair standing at the end, holding on to her father's arm, the spectacular church became the universe. The walls fell away, and the roof melted into nothingness. The church was a universe, and all around them was pitch blackness and the stars. She was a vision walking towards him, and she glimmered with the crystals on her dress.

Finally.

It had been the so very long he was afraid they would never get here.

A long time ago, he could not even tell when she was shivering under his coat. A long time ago, he took care of her to take her away from Jack, to get her back. He wrapped her in his arms so that he would not lose her. This time, he took care of every single detail to please her, to give her what she wanted.

She reached him, and he almost did not notice when Harold shook his hand and placed Blair's on his arm. "I couldn't do this so easily if you were still the same little boy, Charles," Harold told him.

Chuck nodded. He was a man now. Even from somewhere as far away as France, Harold heard about it. During the time that Eleanor and Blair were at odds, Harold would check on his daughter and speak with Chuck about Blair. Those days, those conversations, Harold told him over rehearsal dinner, convinced him that Chuck had grown into a man.

Her face was shielded by the veil, but even if he was struck blind Chuck would know that she was beautiful. He raised her hand to his lips as they turned to the minister.

The words broke through the silence of his mind, and he held onto her hand. "We are gathered here today to witness the marriage of Blair to Charles in holy matrimony. Marriage is not to be entered into lightly. I have spoken with them, individually, together, and I have not met any other young couple who are as prepared for this as the two of them." Chuck raised her hand to his lips again. The minister turned to the crowd, and asked, "Who brings this woman to be married to this man?"

Behind Chuck, Harold voiced, "I do."

The minister then turned to the aisle where the van der Woodsens sat. "Do you give your blessing and pledge your support of this union?" he asked, looking at Lily.

"A thousand percent," Lily responded.

Chuck stifled his smirk, then sighed. He quickly looked at where Tasha sat on her nanny's lap, wide-eyed at the events surrounding her. At the minister's prompt, he took the ring that Nate handed to him and said to Blair, "We didn't start out as friends. I kicked sand in your face when we met in the playground for the first time. I wasn't your first love. That honor belongs to the guy standing right next to me. We didn't have the perfect relationship, but we are right on the verge of having it now. I, Chuck, take you, Blair, as my wife. You're more than my best friend, more than my companion, more than my bride. You and Tasha are my life. Every day you let me be part of your life, you change me. Every day, I'm better because of you. You gave me the best present I have ever gotten, and I swear to you that I will spend every breath making sure none of my promises will ever be broken again."

She blinked back tears, and when he slipped the ring on her finger, he assumed the tears fell because she used her other hand to wipe them away. Blair reached for the ring from Serena. "I, Blair, take you, Chuck, as my husband. I will love you, because there is no other choice than to love you—even when it's easy, even when it's difficult, my heart will love you because it's the one that knows all of you. I will thank you every day for growing with me; and I promise to give you the respect you deserve. I will be right beside you for all the decisions you make. And for everything I know and don't know yet about you, Chuck, I promise you that you will always have my trust."

He handed her a tapered candle, and held up his own. The minister gestured to the large candle on the top step. Chuck helped her light her own candle before he lit his. With his hand on her elbow, he helped her to the unity candle and they lit it at the same time.

When the minister's voice boomed, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. What God has put together, let no man tear asunder," Chuck wrapped his arm around Blair's and pulled her against him. He pushed the veil away and pressed his lips on hers. The smattering of applause pulled them apart.

Right at the moment that he released her, Blair picked up her gown and ran to Tasha. She returned later with their daughter. Blair pulled him down for another kiss.

"Tell me you love me," she requested.

He smiled, and repeated for her. Her request was not a plea, but a request for affirmation. "I love you, and I'm never leaving you."

"I'll hold you to it."

The first promise he fulfilled was the result of a wager. He had lost the bet, but was ecstatic of the outcome. Little Tasha would grow up in a grand townhouse on East 75th as a result of her gender. Mr and Mrs Bass, along with their little princess, moved into the house that Blair won two days after the wedding. It had been an experience, and would have been more so if Chuck did not hire movers to pack, move, unpack and decorate for them. Blair called him out on the easy escape, and Chuck reasoned so well that Blair thought he might have a career in law or politics.

"I promised you I'd take care of you," he had told her.

Blair placed the baby down on her crib, then shook her head in mock exasperation, then pulled her husband into her arms. "When are we going on our honeymoon?"

Chuck felt warmth suffuse his skin. "Blair—"

"The doctor says if we're careful, we can start again," she said teasingly.

His eyes slammed to Tasha's, who was staring at him from her place in her crib. "Blair, not in front of our daughter."

He saw his wife's eyes crinkle, then mirth turn her cheeks into a ruddy color. "Chuck!" She giggled, then continued, "I didn't expect that from you."

He narrowed his eyes, then took a step towards his wife. He locked the door and stalked towards her. Blair's amusement vanished, and her blush morphed from hilarity to something else. Chuck flicked open the top buttons of her blouse to reveal her breasts. Her lips parted when he slowly pulled down the cup of her bra. "This, Tasha's already seen."

Blair released a breath when he flicked his thumb over her engorged nipple. She hissed at the sensation on her sensitive breast.

"Tasha's tasted them."

She held her breath when his hot tongue wrapped around her nipple.

"What kind of father would I be if I didn't try it too?"

"Ohhhh." Blair moaned when he wrapped his lips around the nub and started suckling. "Chuck!"

Warm milk flooded his mouth. Chuck lapped at the liquid before releasing her breast. A couple more drops were absorbed by her skirt as she fell down to sit on the bed. He knelt in front of her and pushed her legs open, then reached up to hook his fingers on her panties. Slowly, he pulled them off her and pulled her closer to the edge of the bed. Chuck held on to her thighs and he buried his lips in her.

Blair fell back on the bed and turned her head. "Tasha," she protested weakly. "Chuck, wait. You don't want Tasha to see."

Chuck smiled against her, and the movement caused another cry to erupt from her lips. He turned his head, and spied Tasha sleeping in her crib. "I'm all yours, Mrs Bass. I promise you're going to see stars before the night ends."

When Chuck Bass promised anything now, he moved heaven and earth to fulfill it. Before the night was over, Blair saw whole galaxies.

fin


End file.
